


Bad Romance

by thepoisonpills



Category: Fall Out Boy, Green Day, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Choking, Drug Use, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Friends With Benefits, Gerard Way is a Brat, Humor, M/M, Pastel Gerard Way, Punk Frank Iero, Romantic Tension, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Underage Drinking, implicit hate sex, just weed once, more like enemies AND lovers, there is SO much drama in this omfg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 112,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepoisonpills/pseuds/thepoisonpills
Summary: Frank Iero had a routine. He woke up to the same outfits, hung out with the same friends, and when he got home, he even watched the same movies and listened to the same records. However, when a new boy, Gerard Way, joins his school at the start of their senior year, Frank's routine proves fatal. The boy in pastel sweaters and flower crowns quickly becomes the absolute last person Frank can have to himself.When Frank gets caught in a bad romance, the consequences are bigger than he imagined.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Comments: 130
Kudos: 122





	1. Poker Face

**Author's Note:**

> Frank is an anxious overthinker with a love of routine. And Gerard... you'll see.
> 
> This fic has no villains. Everyone is sorta right, sorta wrong. Except for Mikey Way and Linda Iero who are the only heroes in this story and are right 100% of the time. 
> 
> This is my first fic EVER, so if you guys could leave comments telling me what you think that'd be great :) 
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [dangsu.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangsu)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Be fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [A/N: I know this title makes it sorta sound like maybe F and G have an abusive relationship, but I promise it's not! Their relationship is just negatively affected by external factors. No abusive F or G, I promise! <3]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll get him hot, show him what I've got."

"Urgh." 

Frank groaned loudly at the obnoxious sound of his alarm clock. If his life was a sitcom, the opening song was absolute trash. Seriously, why do alarm clocks always have angst-inducing sounds no matter the sound of choice? On this day in particular though, Frank felt absolutely justified in his anger.

It was the first day of his senior year of high school. The summer was over, and it was back to bedtimes way too early for Frank's liking and straight boys that smelled way too strongly of Axe body spray for it to be considered legal. It wasn't like Frank had done much of anything over the summer, but hey, he's a teenager - he's allowed to do nothing when there is nothing that actually needs to be done. Why did Phineas and Ferb get eternal summer vacation? Something very wrong didn't seem right about that to Frank. Did he even word that correctly? Whatever. His own brain didn't have the rights to pick on him over grammar.

His internal debate regarding the universal unfairness of summer was interrupted, however, by a loud knock on his door and yelling far too loud for a Monday morning.

"Frank!" His mother pounded on his bedroom door like she was trying to take it off its hinges, "Up!"

Why did Italian mothers have powerful ass vocal chords? Who decided that was a good idea? And, most importantly: why did _Frank_ have an Italian mother with a penchant for yelling when the sun had barely risen?

Needless to say, Frank had a lot of questions that morning.

"I'm up, goddamn!"

That was half true. Although Frank was indeed awake, he was yet to get physically out of bed. He then decided avoiding that was just a delay of the inevitable, so he whipped his right leg onto the floor before standing up. Yes, he made sure to get up on the right side of his bed every morning - because he was superstitious like that. 

In addition to being a slightly superstitious weirdo, Frank was a bit of a neat freak. He liked everything organized, planned, and structured. He was the kind of person who easily fell into routine and hardly fell out of it. Over the summer, he had built a much different routine - one that violated his natural circadian rhythm so much he was operating on the same timezone as the Chinese - and now that he had to go back to _waking up_ at the break of dawn instead of _falling asleep_ at the break of dawn, neither his body nor his mind were very pleased about this change of events. 

In shorter terms - Frank was the kind of person who outlined his outfits for the next morning every night. Like a middle schooler. 

He made his way to his desk chair, where he already had a neatly folded outfit. Frank didn't know why he actually bothered to separate his outfits the night before, considering all his clothes were black and he could pretty much pair any of his faded band tees with any of his multiple pairs of black ripped jeans. However, having his outfit laid out for him every morning gave him a sense of security; and in an environment as insecure as high school, having a set manner to start the day was a way of Frank feeling like he had at least some semblance of control over his life.

Before he could start falling asleep on the very spot where he was standing, Frank rushed out of his pyjama pants and got dressed in his regular punk attire. He then made his way to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth, did his eyeliner, and began styling his hair. Styling, for Frank, meant combing down his hair in the exact same way he always did - sideswept and clean; he wasn't sure when the right side of his forehead last saw the light of day. When he decided his look was complete, he put on a pair of his usual black leather Converse before making his way downstairs.

Linda Iero didn't always do things. However, when she did do things, she did the absolute most. When Frank walked into the kitchen, the table was adorned with blueberry pancake stacks, assorted fruits, waffles, tubs of Greek yoghurt, fried eggs, toast, and… was she adding scrambled eggs to the mix? Who needed two different types of eggs in the morning? 

"Mom, this is enough food to feed a horse."

"Yes," she agreed nonchalantly, adding a pan to the dishwasher. "But, I have a teenage son, and they tend to eat about the same amount. Now sit down and eat."

Frank knew better than to talk back to his mother, so he did as he was told and sat down on his assigned chair at the table. Sitting at the same chair every single day was a habit he just couldn't seem to break, although there were no rules at all regarding the sitting arrangements at the Iero household.

He brought the plate carrying a delicious looking waffle covered in strawberries and whipped cream closer to him, taking a moment to take in its delicious smell. His mom really did make the best food. A trait both Frank and Linda seemed to have in common was that if they weren't excellent at something, they just didn't do it. They did things at maximum capacity or not at all.

"Are you just gonna stare at your food, boy?" Linda stared at Frank expectantly, and when Frank's gaze redirected to his mom, he noticed she was frozen in place, watching him intently. 

Without thinking twice, Frank dug into the waffle sitting in front of him. Damn, it was good. So good, in fact, it ripped a moan from his throat before he could even think to hold it back. His mother seemed pleased with this response, and sat down across Frank, digging into some pancakes herself. Before a comfortable silence could set in, however, she spoke again.

"Frank, we need to talk about your friends, darling," she said in a soft tone, indicating she was concerned rather than angry.

"What a-"

She interrupted him quickly, "Don't talk with your mouth full." 

Frank swallowed the chunk of waffle in his mouth before re-attempting his question, "What about them?" Truthfully, this question was redundant, because he knew exactly what she meant. However, he figured that if he stalled her until breakfast was over, they wouldn't need to have this conversation again. 

Frank tried Linda. But Linda was ready. 

"Cut the B.S., you know what I'm talking about. I don't think Pete and Patrick are good for you, Frank. Their drama from the past keeps negatively affecting the rest of your social life at school. I know it takes a toll on you. Is this the stress you want to carry into your last year?"

Frank sighed, slightly annoyed, "I like Pete and Patrick, mom. They're good friends. Besides, why would I bother changing around my whole social life during my very last year?"

"Because if you fail at it, the people who bear witness to it will be out of your life soon enough anyways."

She had a point, and Frank knew that, because she always did. Having an incredibly clever mom kind of sucked sometimes, because Frank could never win arguments at home, but it also meant arguments never lasted very long, so he had more hours in the day to do other things.

"I don't know if I can let go of this, mom. I'm so used to it by now. It's comfortable. You know how I am with these things," he whined. 

Linda's expression softened in sympathy, "Yes, my boy, I know because I'm the exact same. But sometimes we need to do difficult things, yeah? It's your last year. Treat it like what it is. Just think about what I said."

The rest of the time before Frank got to school went by in a blur. He barely made note of finishing his breakfast, grabbing his backpack, and making his way to his car. If you asked him, he wouldn't be able to give a proper answer on how he made it to school without crashing. When parked at his school's parking lot, however, his mother's words echoed back to him. 

_It's your last year. Treat it like what it is._

Frank sat solemnly in his car for a few minutes in a trance, dazed by the dilemma he faced. Were his friends really weighing him down? It didn't feel like it. Patrick and Pete had been amazing friends since day one, when they met at their freshman induction three years prior. They had always been by his side, supporting him endlessly, but never hesitating to intervene when they believed Frank was indirectly harming himself through his actions. Frank knew that if Pete hadn't gotten into that God damned fight sophomore year, his mom would be praising his friends left and right.

But the past couldn't be changed. And when the past weaves its web far into the future, tangling anyone it can reach, breaking free is easier said than done.

Could they untangle themselves from the past? Was it even worth attempting on their very last year? Frank really was full of questions that morning. He quickly glanced at his phone to check the time: 7:40. He had a solid 20 minutes until class started, but he liked giving himself extra time when he got to school since rushing in the morning always put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

He grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat, slinging it over his shoulder before exiting his car. Frank always thought the entrance of his high school looked grim, but it looked particularly shitty on the first day of a new academic year. Since Patrick relied on Pete to give him a ride every day and Pete was not known for his punctuality, Frank knew Pete and Patrick wouldn't be at school yet before he could bother checking. For now, Frank was alone. He stopped by the office to grab his new schedule and locker number, then began making his way to his locker. After three years at this school, Frank was well familiarized with their numbering systems, and quickly figured out he was on the ground floor this year. Score. Last year he had been placed all the way up on the fourth floor, and climbing those stairs multiple times a day was absolutely brutal on his leg muscles. That was the most exercise he got during junior year, and he did not plan on making up in physical activity this year. 

It was safe to say Frank's life was stagnant in more ways than one. 

When he got to his locker, he hung up his backpack on the inner side of the lock, opened it, and began meticulously organizing his books. In what order do his textbooks go again? He had forgotten over the summer. Alphabetical? Height? AP vs everything else? Alphabetical sounded good to Frank. He could do alphabetical. 

Frank held a history book in one hand and a chemistry book in the other, deliberating whether the alphabetical order should be based on the name of the author, the book title, or the subject the book belonged to. Should chemistry come before history, since C comes before H? Frank then stared at the book titles before him: "Organic Chemistry 102" vs "History of the United States: Civil War". Fuck. The order would be totally different if he decided to organize them by title rather than subject. If he organized the textbooks by subject, he could place them with his other subject notebooks to make his class notes-

"Hey, um, excuse me?" A gentle voice to his right ripped Frank straight out of his textbook-related debacle and pulled his gaze in the direction where the voice had come from. When he fully woke to reality, he noticed the locker next to his had been opened, and identified the owner of the voice right away as they were the only ones in the hallway. 

Next to him stood a boy who appeared to be his age, and Frank was immediately stunned by the sight before him. That was easily, without a doubt, the prettiest person he had ever seen. No, this boy was not handsome - he was _pretty._ And extremely pretty at that. _Holy fuck,_ Frank thought. He couldn't have come up with a prettier person if he tried. The boy before him had jet black hair messily sticking out in every direction, embellished with a flower crown adorned in pastel blue and pink flowers. His sweater matched the soft blue on his flower crown, flowing well past his wrists into his hands. And was that… makeup? Frank swore there was a gentle glitter to the stranger's cheekbones and the tip of his pixie nose. When his eyes moved down to his lips, he noticed the stranger also seemed to be wearing lipgloss, as his lips had a shiny pink tint to them.

Frank quickly realized he had forgotten to speak while staring at the stranger.

"Oh, hi." He offered the boy a gentle smile, hoping that was enough to get him to talk again so Frank could look at him for a little longer.

"So, uh, hi? I'm Gerard. I'm new." The stranger, who Frank now knew as Gerard, returned the smile and a delicate pink filled his cheeks. _God,_ Frank thought, _I'm gonna pass out if this guy gets any cuter._ Gerard offered Frank his hand, and it took Frank a few seconds to realize he was meant to shake people's hands when they offered handshakes, as he was busy mentally talking down a heart attack. He shoved his textbooks into his locker in a totally random order to free up his hands and extended his right out to Gerard. When their hands touched, Frank immediately noticed two things. One: Gerard's hand was really warm, and two: his nails were covered in a chipped pale yellow nail polish. 

Frank thought Gerard couldn't possibly get more perfect.

"Hey, I'm Frank. I'm a senior." 

Their hands broke apart before Gerard replied, "Oh, nice. Me too." He quickly fell silent after that. Frank could tell Gerard was trying to formulate the next part of his speech, so he opted not to speak, leaving them in a slightly awkward silence for a few moments before Gerard seemed to remember why he had approached Frank in the first place.

"Would you uh, would you mind helping me out? I don't know where any of my classes are." Gerard rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

Frank shrugged, trying to appear cool and indifferent. The stupid unintentional grin painted on his face gave him away though, showing how excited he was about such a cute boy bringing him into a conversation. 

"Sure. Show me your schedule."

Gerard reached into his locker, carelessly throwing around multiple books before producing a crumpled piece of paper. Frank hadn't noticed Gerard's locker yet, and was genuinely shocked at how messy it was when he took a glance. How had Gerard conjured such chaos at a completely new school before classes had even begun? It was like a hurricane passed through the hallway and somehow spared everything _but_ Gerard's locker. He sloppily attempted to smooth out the crumpled piece of paper he had fished out before handing it over to Frank. 

When Frank looked at Gerard's schedule, he instinctively looked for classes they had in common. He immediately noticed they had AP English literature together - _nice._ Not so nice, though, when Frank realized that was a class he absolutely sucked in. Like, Frank wasn't a dumb dude, but he was utter _shit_ at English. He only took it because he needed a certain number of AP courses for a fair shot at his dream college and had already exhausted the subjects he was actually good at. Frank also noticed Gerard's other AP courses: Art and Design, Psychology, and French. He felt like he had gotten a certain understanding of Gerard then. Four AP classes? Frank was taking three and he felt overwhelmed. This guy was either talented or an overachiever; judging by the state of his locker, Frank figured he was talented, because no overachiever pays that little attention to their academic materials.

When he was done observing Gerard's schedule, Frank then noticed AP English literature was the only class they had in common. He couldn't believe his luck. 

Great. The cutest boy Frank had ever seen would think of him as a moron. 

"We have English together, and that's first period today. I could walk you there if you wanted," Frank said, returning Gerard's schedule.

Gerard's face lit up in a stunned smile. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Yeah, of course." Frank couldn't help but laugh lightly at Gerard's shocked reaction. "It isn't a burden for me at all. You know, since I'm also headed that way."

"Right," Gerard's gaze timidly trailed down, as if he was also concerned about making a good impression. Could it be that he was as stunned by Frank as Frank was by him? He quickly disregarded the idea though, because there was no way he was as stunning at this human embodiment of sunshine that stood before him. 

One of Gerard's painted fingers found itself twirling a piece of his own hair before he spoke again, "Um, I need to go by the office to sort out my school email. Can I meet you here before class?" When Gerard turned around away from his locker, Frank got a better look at the other side of his face and his attention was quickly caught by a sliver of sharp white on Gerard's cheek - barely standing out from his pale skin, but still very much there.

Frank almost couldn't stop himself from giggling. Gerard had drawn a tiny little daisy flower on his cheek. Could he possibly get more adorable? 

"Sure. I'll be here," Frank nodded to Gerard as politely as he could, because Gerard's sheer cuteness was enough for Frank to develop a crippling fear of ever hurting the boy in any way. It quickly occurred to Frank that in this short meeting, Gerard had managed to get him willing to bend over backwards if it'd make him more comfortable.

Fuck. Frank had to talk to Gerard more. He couldn't let this raven-haired beauty slip away from him. He watched as Gerard walked away, seemingly unnoticed by the other students who had started filing in since Frank arrived. Quite a few minutes had passed since then, and Frank realized he hadn't even finished organizing his books, being distracted by the cutest guy in the universe and all that. He stared back at his locker, realizing he had put his history book before his chemistry one. 

That was the wrong order, he decided. Chemistry should obviously be filed before history. C comes before H anyways. Duh. Frank rearranged his books then, and felt that order was right. At least he had one thing sorted that Monday morning. The adorable interruption to his normal routine, despite intriguing him, was starting to unnerve Frank a little bit. He spent the next few minutes getting the rest of his books sorted, placing his subject notebooks by the textbooks of their designated class. Then, he retrieved a small roll of sticky tape from his backpack, taping his schedule to the door of his locker after spending a few seconds making sure it was perfectly aligned at the center of the door. When he was satisfied with the placement, he checked his schedule again and began retrieving the books he'd need till lunchtime. First period: AP English literature. Just one book, a play. Second period: Chemistry. Urgh. Two classes he wasn't great at right off the bat. At least the rest of the day was followed by his two best subjects: AP Physics and AP Calculus. Yes, Frank liked math. Sue him. 

As Frank filed for his last class of the day, a pair of hands on his shoulders and a loud shout by his left ear invaded his senses, scaring him enough for him to let out a short scream and drop the large calculus textbook in his hands. It fell to the ground by his feet with a boisterous _splat,_ echoing throughout the hallway and startling numerous students in the process. Frank quickly bent down to pick up the book and shoved it into his backpack. When he turned around, a short figure wearing a random assortment of colors greeted him.

"FRED! LERO!" Pete yelled at truly unnecessary volume, drawing even more attention to them. He didn't give Frank any time to reply before flinging his arms tightly around his torso, not even bothering if the hug was reciprocated or not. When he stepped back, Frank noted that Pete's look was so loud and obnoxious that it made Patrick standing next to him seem pretty much invisible. 

So almost nothing about Pete had changed over the summer. That was comforting.

Frank did notice, however, that Pete's hair had been dyed a bright bubblegum pink, as if his clothes didn't already make him enough of a human siren.

Frank then turned to Patrick, who was dressed smartly in a navy button-up and black dress pants. They were all perfect juxtapositions to each other: Frank looked like an emo twink, Pete looked like a randomized Sim, and Patrick looked like a Model UN delegate. If they didn't go everywhere together, no one would pin them as friends. The three of them were so different that if their friendships didn't work, they would likely be arch-enemies. 

"Hey dude, what's good?" Frank offered Patrick a friendly hug, as was custom amongst them. They were a rather affectionate group of friends, given their nearly inseparable nature over the past few years.

When they withdrew from the hug, Patrick smiled politely. "I'm good. How was the rest of your summer?"

Patrick and Frank had spent the first half of the summer together, before Patrick's family went up to Canada for a vacation in British Columbia. It was an unspoken truth amongst them that Patrick's parents were rich, and thus could afford to take nice international vacations twice a year. Patrick never mentioned it though, so Frank and Pete left the topic unmentioned as well.

"It was fine. Didn't get up to much. What about you, Pete? How was Illinois?"

Pete's family drove to Illinois every vacation without fail, as the rest of his relatives lived there. And after every vacation, Pete gave the exact same verdict:

"It sucks, but not as bad as Jersey."

Frank liked Jersey, but he understood those who didn't. It smelled far too much like Manhattan without all the cool things about Manhattan. The coolest thing to do in Jersey was to take the train into New York. 

"Guys," Patrick started, looking sympathetic, "sorry to cut this short, but I need to run to bio before class. I have some books I forgot to return last year and they'll have my head if they run short on books for the new students because of me."

"Don't worry about it," Pete said, opening his backpack and revealing a pile of miscellaneous items that almost seemed to overflow from the edges of the bag, "I need to drop all this shit by my locker too."

"Right. I'll see you in English then, Pat?" Frank asked, and Patrick nodded affirmative. "We'll all see each other at lunch?"

"Yeah, of course." 

"See y'all, then."

"See ya." Patrick waved before he and Pete began walking in separate directions. Well, Patrick was walking. Pete seemed to be… _rolling?_

 _Oh my God,_ Frank quickly noticed, _he's wearing heelys._ What the fuck. 

On the other side of the hallway, coming from the same direction where Patrick had been headed, Frank quickly noticed a bright blue figure. It was Gerard, and he was walking back towards him. 

_Can't I catch a fucking break today? Jesus._ Frank thought to himself before plastering a kind smile on his face almost instinctively.

Gerard instantly noticed him and smiled back with a full-toothed grin. 

"Hi Frankie." Woah. No one called Frank that except for his grandma. A shocked expression painted his face, and he immediately felt unguarded - disarmed. Surely Gerard could see the effect he had on Frank.

Frank suddenly felt naked despite being fully dressed. 

"Hey Gerard. You wanna get going? English isn't too far from here."

Gerard nodded, "Sure."

They began making their way in silence, Gerard following Frank like a lost tourist. Frank just couldn't seem to open his mouth to say anything. What did people say to those they wanted to charm? Frank did not know. The silence was beginning to settle in, and Frank was starting to think that if he waited just a couple seconds more, it would be too late to break the silence.

A few moments later, Gerard was the one to break the stillness just before it became too strong to break.

"So… is there a system for how the classes are numbered?"

It was a valid inquiry. 

"Uh, yeah. The first digit represents the floor. So if a class number starts with zero, it's on the ground floor. One, first floor. And so on. When you get to a floor, there are signs on the hallways that'll guide you to the different rooms. All the language classes are on the ground floor, and that's where we're headed now. Science and math are on the second floor. Humanities are on the third, and arts are on the fourth."

"Oh..." Gerard pondered. "... that… sounds like a lot of stairs."

That was the first thing he noticed? Frank laughed. The first thing he had done when he learned about the system as a freshman was to appreciate how organized it was.

"It is, isn't it? As a freshman I had music right after English on Thursdays and I think that was the most exercise I got throughout the whole of high school. Last year my locker was all the way up in art and it ruined most of my mornings."

"I suppose that's good, in a way. It's not like I'll be going to gym class," Gerard said with a shrug.

Frank grinned. "I cannot recall the last time I went to gym."

"Right? I skip it to paint, usually."

"I saw you take AP Art." Frank then took the opportunity to look Gerard up and down to emphasize his point, "You look like the artsy type too."

He was briefly worried that Gerard would feel like his gaze upon his body was invasive, but instead he let out a jovial laugh and Frank swore he felt his heart melting inside of his chest. Gerard lifted up his hands in playful surrender, "Alright, I've been caught. What gave it away, besides the everything about me?"

Frank felt himself beam, but couldn't care enough to hide it. "I'm impressed, I'm more of a music guy myself. Shame this school doesn't offer AP Music Theory anymore." 

"What _are_ your APs?"

"English lit, physics, and calc."

Gerard's eyes grew in bewilderment, "You take AP Calc?"

"Yeah, I like math. Always been good at it."

"Woah..." Gerard seemed genuinely impressed, "I never even learned my multiples of nine. I gave up on math when we got to long division. I'm pretty sure I take the most basic math course they offer."

"But the nine times table is the best one!" Frank said emphatically.

Gerard lifted an eyebrow, like he was questioning Frank's entire thought process, "You realize you sound like a huge nerd, right? No times table is the best one, dude, because they all suck. Math is just a poor excuse- oh, are we here?" He asked when Frank stopped in front of a classroom.

"Yeah, let's get inside. Some people are already here anyways."

When they walked in, the teacher immediately took notice of Gerard.

"Excuse me, are you Gerard Way?" she asked, facing the boy next to Frank.

"Yeah."

"Can you come here for a second? I need to give you some materials before we start."

Gerard glanced back over at Frank, nodding slightly before making his way to the teacher. 

When Frank looked into the classroom, he noticed Patrick sitting in his usual spot right away. The desk next to him by the window was empty, as it was Frank's designated seat. Patrick motioned to Frank, asking him to come over, and out of habit Frank walked over and sat at the exact same desk he had last year. When he looked under the desk, a pen he had left before the summer was still sitting there, patiently waiting for his return. His seat wasn't at the very back of the class, but it was far back enough for him to divert attention from the teacher when she asked the class questions. Frank fidgeted with the pen he found and didn't glance back up when the class started.

He was vaguely aware that the teacher was discussing the text she had assigned as reading for the summer, Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot. Frank had actually done the reading, but he had to admit he didn't really understand jack shit of it. What was the message behind two guys waiting for some fucker who never seemed to arrive? 

Frank briefly looked up and unintentionally scanned the classroom for Gerard. He was sitting at the very front row, in the dead center of the class. Had the classroom been a stage, Gerard was right in the spotlight. Frank wondered, had he placed himself there with that purpose? Or was it out of genuine desire to be engaged with the lesson? Maybe it was a mixture of both. 

Frank was pulled out of his thoughts when the teacher addressed Gerard a few minutes into the class.

"Now, Gerard, since you're new, I can give you the following week to catch up on the reading if you'd like."

Gerard answered in a polite tone - in contrast to his slightly standoffish statement - likely to dull down his words and not appear rude, "That won't be necessary. I've read Godot before."

The teacher seemed surprised, "Oh. Did you study this text at your previous school?"

"Uh, no. I read it on my own." 

Frank grimaced in confusion. Who the hell was this teenager who read literary classics for pleasure? And why was Frank so goddamn attracted to him? 

He zoned out for a long while after that, staring out the window at the cars that occasionally passed by. He liked imagining what those people were doing, where they were going. Frank conjured little stories for every car that passed by. In the silver Volvo was a person on their way to their boring office job. As teens they had big city music dreams, but were stuck in their small New Jersey town as adults. In the white Ford Focus that sped by - definitely above the speed limit - was a teen late to school on their very first day. And in the black Tesla? A businessperson on their way to work in Wall Street. 

Frank made a vague notion about Patrick taking notes next to him, but couldn't bother to do the same. What was the point of taking notes when he didn't even understand the notes he made? He noticed the teacher had asked a question, but of course, he didn't raise his hand. 

Someone else did, though. Someone Frank had been intermittently watching for the past half-hour. 

"Yes, Gerard?"

Gerard's entire body quickly took upon a joyful spirit Frank hadn't yet seen grace his being.

"Maybe the reason why Beckett chose to make this play seem so..." he waved his hands in circles, like he was searching for the right words to use, "... idle, so unmoving, is because the point of the play is inaction itself. Godot is a play about action, sure, but most importantly, the lack thereof. Vladimir and Estragon decide multiple times that they'll leave their place by the tree, but they never do. This could be a point about how we live our lives in conformity, like drones. We do the same things day in and day out. And we live our entire lives like that. Go to school. Then college. Then work, retire, and die. We think about rebelling, about doing as we wish, but how often do we follow through? And what happens to the ones who do? We truly are like bee drones or farm animals. A symbol that supports this theory is the radish, or carrot, as the characters believe. Those are both vegetables eaten by farm animals, which intentionally diminishes the human qualities of our characters." 

"Godot is about conformity. At least that's what it means to me. It's about how we fall passive to our routines for years on end; no one truly being the boss of anyone, not even themselves," Gerard finally ended, looking around in shock as if he hadn't realized he had been passionately rambling. 

"Woah, Gerard." The teacher smiled at him, as if Gerard had spoken the most intelligent words she had ever heard, "That is an excellent reading of Godot! If you can use more of the motifs in the text to back up your theory, that'll make a magnificent essay!"

"Thank you," he said sheepishly, the joy on his face diminishing once he retreated back into himself, feeling the gazes of all the other students on the back of his head.

 _Great,_ Frank thought, not only was the cute guy in his worst class, but he was absolutely brilliant at it. That would make Frank seem like even more of an idiot. Although he was already quiet before, Gerard's presence in the class made him feel like a mouse in the eyes of a hawk. 

Curious how someone so adorable could have a presence so threatening.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•───── 

By the time he met Patrick and Pete at lunch, Frank's mood had improved vastly due to the confidence boost he always seemed to get after physics class. Physics and math were the two classes that always brightened up his day without fail. Don't blame Frank; we all like to be good at things. 

The three of them were standing in line getting their food, each holding their trays carrying a juicebox and some hardly edible snacks. American high schools generally have terrible food, and their high school was no exception. Patrick could've sworn the random slice of carbs on his plate bore a slight resemblance to a pizza, but that could have been just wishful thinking. 

Abruptly, a tall figure that was all too familiar with them sharply bumped into Pete, leaning between him and Frank over the counter, causing Pete to drop his tray and its contents straight onto the floor. Frank was slightly thrown off balance too, his juicebox dropping along with Pete's tray, but his own remaining firmly in his grip.

"Oops," the figure spoke in a deceptively sweet tone, "sorry little guy."

The figure was none other than Ray Toro. Ray was not in any way the school bully - you'll be shocked to hear. In fact, he was only ever short of kind to the three of them specifically; the bad blood between them and Ray and his friends ran deep. Although there had been a large initial conflict two years ago, the consequences of this conflict were nowhere near being lost to time. Instead, it was fed regularly with insults, bad practical jokes, and malignant silence.

"Fuck off!" Frank swore at Ray in a habit that was also all too familiar. He waited until Ray turned away from them before he picked up his juicebox and threw it as hard as he could, hitting Ray right on the back. 

Ray instantly froze in his place, slowly turning around to face Frank and his friends again. At this point, Frank was aware that he had probably fucked up, but he was not the kind of person who just backed out once he did something. For a massive overthinker, Frank really didn't think about the aftermath of his actions before acting them out sometimes. However, no one could say he wasn't a committed person. He committed to all his decisions like he did to his daily customs. 

Ray stared at the three of them with a gaze that could bore a hole through titanium. One could easily tell he did not enjoy having a juicebox thrown at him, which Frank had to admit was understandable. He noticed most of the cafeteria had turned to face the commotion, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mop of black hair covered in a flower crown, watching them intently. 

Just great. Not only would Gerard think of him as an idiot, but an asshole too. This was all just perfect. Senior year was going swellingly for Frank so far. 

Ray's face twisted in anger before he picked up the juicebox off the floor where it had landed. "Watch it, you dumbass fucking elf!" Ray swung his arm back and Frank braced himself for impact, closing his eyes and wincing slightly. But the impact never came. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a small female hand wrapped around Ray's bicep, holding him back firmly. 

Who would have guessed it? Hayley Williams, his saving grace.

Hayley Williams was one of Ray's friends along with Brendon Urie, and had partaken in many of these fights herself, hence why Frank couldn't really comprehend why she had stopped Ray. The answer came shortly thereafter, however, in a shockingly deadpan tone.

"Ray," she said monotonously, "it's only the first day back, dude. Let's just ignore these idiots. We have the whole year to fight them." 

This seemed like good enough reasoning for Ray, because he slowly but surely put his arm down, tossing the juicebox back to Frank in defeat. Frank barely caught it, almost embarrassing himself in front of the whole cafeteria. Ray glared back at Frank and his friends one last time before turning back around with Hayley, making his way over to a table where Brendon had been sitting and watching the situation unfold. 

Frank sighed annoyedly at Brendon when he first caught sight of him, sitting at his table with his bright shirt and pompous hairdo. It had all been his fault. None of this would have happened if it weren't for him. In fact, if it weren't for Brendon Urie, the six of them would all still be friends today.

Frank then redirected his attention to Pete, who stood blankly next to him and whose dish was still on the floor. He didn't really know what to say to Pete. He never did in these situations. After every fight, every argument, every conflict no matter how small, Frank fell into silence, being drawn to it like we are inclined to jump from high places. To him, _l'appel du silence_ was like _l'appel du vide._

Luckily, Patrick always knew what to say. He was the most emotionally intelligent one amongst them, and it showed in moments like these.

"Hey Pete, do you wanna go back for another plate?" he placed a gentle hand on Pete's shoulder.

"No," Pete mumbled, clearly distraught, "I'm not hungry anymore. Let's just sit down."

And so they did. They made their way to their usual four-person table, an empty seat being left next to Frank as usual. Frank didn't mind, as he ate with his left hand and this generally meant bumping into people's arms constantly. He began unenthusiastically eating his food, having lost some of his hunger himself. As he chewed on a chunk of God-knows-what, barely listening to the conversation Patrick and Pete were making over the table, he glanced up straight at Gerard. 

He hadn't exactly figured out why he made this choice; it was like his brain was willing him to look in that direction until he did so. Gerard wasn't looking back at him, however, instead being absorbed into what was clearly a sketchpad on his table. Frank noted he sat in silence across another boy, who seemed to be slightly thinner and taller than Gerard, reading a book Frank couldn't identify. The two boys weren't talking, but it seemed the stillness between them was comfortable rather than awkward. It seemed almost... _practiced._

Frank took a closer look at the boy across Gerard, investigating his style. Although he and Gerard were equally colorful, they were not the same kinds of colorful. The boy across Gerard had platinum blond hair, clearly bleached, and wore a bright red faux leather jacket. As Frank was watching him, he momentarily put his book down and took off his jacket, revealing a… tiger print shirt? That was certainly an... _interesting_ fashion choice. Frank quickly observed that this boy had the same kind of colorful style as Pete: like a randomized Sim. They'd look like a matching set if they were standing right next to each other. The notion of another human being ever matching Pete was so ridiculous that Frank started laughing to himself.

"What's so funny, dude?" Patrick asked, curious as to what Frank found so amusing. 

"Nothing," he shook his head, "just thought of something stupid."

Patrick didn't argue that answer, and instead went back to the conversation he and Pete were having. Something about whether Mean Girls was better than Clueless. Patrick was absolutely obsessed with chick-flick movies, and Pete enjoyed them too, so this was nowhere near the first time Frank had overheard this conversation. It was one of the first times, however, that Frank had ever seen Gerard, so he turned his attention right back to the most interesting subject at hand.

Gerard was still drawing when Frank looked back at him, this time his eyebrows were further furrowed in concentration and the tip of his tongue stuck out of his lip. God, he was so fucking cute; Frank almost groaned in frustration. Frank was the kind of person who either wanted things with his entire being or not at all - his heart did not know what the term "middle ground" meant. Although he did not yet desire Gerard, he could feel it coming. There should be a term to describe the pre-crush period: when you can tell that you're going to fall for someone, but are powerless to stop it. Or maybe there was such a word, and Frank just sucked at English.

Well, that much was true. 

Frank still felt it coming, though. Whatever it was called. He felt all the ugly emotions love brought out of him beginning to sizzle beneath the surface. Not yet a boil, but the heat was undoubtedly starting to spread. 

Frank _hated_ the person he was when in love. He hated the side of him it brought out. He knew it was bad. But Frank just couldn't _stop_ no matter how hard he tried.

He felt the claws of possessiveness begin to take hold of him. Not yet its regular iron grip - just a light teasing scratch. His hands twitched minutely, aching to grab Gerard and take him away from whoever that boy was across him. Why did he get to be near Gerard, but Frank couldn't?! Frank felt his feet twitch in his shoes, aching to stand up and walk over to Gerard. Maybe not to act out his possessive desires, but to at least invite him to sit over with his friends. There was room for him at the table: a single spare seat that almost seemed to have "Gerard" written on it. Perfect and right next to Frank. He could tell the other boy across Gerard that there just wasn't room for him at the table, separating the two of them.

 _Except Frank didn't move._

Frank twitched and twitched, but he failed to make even a single voluntary movement. 

He knew he had to act, that his friend group had to soon adopt Gerard before he was taken by another clique. He knew Gerard would likely be gone forever if he made other friends.

But Frank was stuck in his seat. He couldn't move a muscle. His arms were glued to the table, and he was unable to lift even an inch of his foot off the ground. 

He had to get to Gerard fast, get him acquainted with his friends so that he could give future Frank even a chance at quenching what he knew would be an undying thirst for the raven-haired boy. 

But, when Frank finally snapped out of his body's binding fit, he managed to only barely raise himself off his seat before the bell rang, a sudden wave of students vanishing Gerard from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Russian roulette is not the same without a gun. And baby when it's love, if it's not rough it isn't fun."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Hey guys! What did you think? Don't worry, things will only escalate from here. I have pretty good plans for this fic and I'm very excited.
> 
> Btw, l'appel du vide is a French expression that describes that odd compulsion we have to jump from high places. Just in case you were curious.
> 
> Next chapter is called Paparazzi.
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	2. Paparazzi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me."

For the first time in his life, Frank rushed out of AP Calc. Normally he stayed behind to talk to his teacher about the content, or even discuss work he could do for extra credit, but on that Monday afternoon, he left so fast that he was out the door by the time the bell had finished ringing. 

He had to catch Gerard before he went home. Frank would not wait even a second longer. 

When he got to his locker, Frank took his sweet time taking his books out of his backpack and placing them carefully on the shelf at eye-level he reserved for academic materials. He knew either Pete or Patrick would likely come by to invite him to hang out, but if Frank was successful in his afternoon mission, he'd be pretty busy for the rest of the evening all on his own. 

No, not like _that_ , you sicko. 

Sure enough, he soon heard the sound of footsteps approaching him and felt a soft hand on his shoulder. It was Patrick.

"Hey, Frank, are you coming over? Pete and I are watching Legally Blonde." 

Frank sighed, "I can't man, I have plans this evening. My bad."

Patrick nodded, his face kind with understanding, "It's alright! I'll see you tomorrow then!"

"See you!" They waved each other goodbye, and Patrick left, leaving Frank alone with his thoughts once again.

Fact: Frank had never watched Legally Blonde. He was very much aware that a lot of people would call him a bad gay, as he hadn't seen most of the movies or listened to the pop divas so many gays seemed to enjoy. Frank had a bit too much pride to do that when he first figured out he was gay, and even though that residual pride was long gone, he now felt it was a little too late to catch up. 

It wasn't like people didn't try to catch him up, though. _Try_ being the key word. His friends, who seemed to have an endless supply of chick-flicks and references he didn't quite understand, always tried getting him involved in their cultural tastes. Although Frank was yet to come out to his mom, she was obsessed with pop divas for as long as he could remember. She had tried to get him into Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears, Lady Gaga and the like, but Frank was stubborn. He stuck to his 90s punk music; it was familiar and comfortable.

Frank did try to watch an episode of RuPaul's Drag Race when he was fifteen, but he just couldn't understand how the judges assessed all the looks on the runway. What made one look better than another? Sometimes Frank felt cheated out on the gay deal; he didn't have any of the positive traits normally associated with gay men. He didn't know anything about fashion, he wasn't very emotionally intelligent, and his vocabulary was mediocre at best. Why did other gay men get to be stylish, compassionate, and eloquent? It wasn't fair. He couldn't even dance either. 

Frank's mental debate was interrupted by the one person he wanted to see. Someone who, unlike Frank, was stylish, compassionate, and eloquent. In a brief moment, Frank felt a bit of jealousy towards Gerard - he was clearly a much better gay than he was. Gerard hadn't told him that he was gay, but Frank just assumed it; straight men weren't that stylish, compassionate, or eloquent after all. _Urgh_ , Frank thought, _the fucker can probably dance too._

"Hi Frankie! Have a good day?" 

Frank snapped out of his jealous internal rant. "Uh, yeah! What about you? How was your first day?"

Gerard smiled. "It was alright. This school's art room is awesome! Didn't really make any friends yet, but at least I didn't come here alone." 

"What do you mean you didn't come here alone?" Frank asked, feeling confused. He briefly noticed Gerard's sweater had a few colorful stains that weren't there in the morning, but didn't inquire about them. He was a man on a mission, after all. 

"My brother Mikey. We joined together. He's a junior." 

Frank suddenly felt the dots connect. God, he had been an idiot earlier. The guy sitting with Gerard at lunch was probably his brother. "The one with the bleached hair?"

Fuck. He shouldn't have said that. Gerard would probably think of him as a stalker. 

If he did though, he didn't show it, because his expression remained gentle as he replied, "Yeah. The pointy one with questionable fashion." By Gerard's tone, it seemed like Mikey's fashion was a slight point of contention between the two brothers. 

Gerard then proceeded to open his locker, removing his materials from his bag and tossing them inside the locker with careless abandon. Frank cringed on behalf of those books - what had they _done_ to deserve such horrible treatment? When Frank looked inside Gerard's locker, it had somehow become even messier than it was in the morning; there were bits of paper everywhere, and Gerard had taped random drawings to the door in a crooked and uneven manner. Frank grimaced at the sight of the drawings taped in such a horrible way - he felt the urge to push Gerard aside and retape them until they were neat and evened out, but instead decided that he needed to carry out his plan before Gerard went home.

"So, Gerard, I've been meaning to ask..." At the mention of his name, Gerard perked up, staring back up at Frank in curiosity. "Are you on Instagram?"

Frank momentarily worried that the request had been inappropriate, but Gerard simply smiled and said, "Yeah, my handle's _@gerardway._ No underscores or anything. Just Gerard and then Way, like the direction." 

"Gerard Way..." Frank repeated to himself, withdrawing his phone from his pocket and typing the name into the Instagram search bar. Only one account appeared under the search, _@gerardway,_ just like Gerard had told him.

He clicked on the profile, immediately hitting the "Follow" button. 

"Alright, I'm following you." Frank shut his locker, having finished his business there long ago. "See you tomorrow then?"

Gerard nodded, "Yeah. Goodbye, locker buddy."

Frank grinned to himself as he walked to his car. His plan worked. On the way home, he almost ran a red light from sheer excitement. He pretty much flew upstairs into his room, barely acknowledging his mother before shutting the door, tossing his backpack onto his bed, and throwing himself at his desk chair. When he unlocked his phone, Frank saw a notification that hadn't been there when he left school:

_@gerardway started following you._

Hell yeah! Frank felt awesome. The cute boy followed him back - call him master of the game. 

Now that he was alone, Frank took the time to do what he had been planning all along. 

He opened Instagram, not sparing even a moment before going to Gerard's profile. 

Yes. Frank was about to internet stalk Gerard Way. It wasn't his proudest moment, sure, but he didn't have enough dignity left to care. He started his morally questionable journey by examining the account. Gerard had 138 followers, which Frank found shocking; he thought someone as beautiful as Gerard would attract much more attention online, especially with his aesthetic. His profile picture was a selfie; he wasn't wearing a flower crown in the photo, but instead had a daisy stuck behind his ear. He was winking at the camera playfully, and Frank thought the photo was perfect - just on the edge between silly and hot. Gerard's name on his account had a rose emoji next to it, and his bio read, _"Loving you is cherry pie..."_ with some sparkle emojis after it. Frank felt like the bio must've been a reference to something, but he couldn't identify to what exactly.

So Gerard was the kind of person who liked cute emojis. What a shocker!

Frank then noticed Gerard had posted some stories, a pinkish purple ring circling his profile picture. He tapped on the circle to have a look. The first story was a mirror selfie, timestamped 7:03 that morning. Gerard was fully dressed and ready, leaning over the bathroom sink with the outfit he had worn that day, along with the glitter Frank had noticed on his cheekbones and the tip of his nose. The daisy flower drawn on his cheek seemed to be the highlight of the picture, as Gerard was sticking that side of his face out into the mirror. Frank saw his lips were lacking the pink shine he had spotted that morning, and when he looked closer at Gerard's hand in the picture, he saw a tube of sheer pink gloss clutched between his delicate fingers. The bathroom counter was filled with miscellaneous makeup items Frank couldn't name, colorful circular cases of various sizes and a few spray bottles he couldn't possibly imagine the use of. 

Was Gerard the kind of person who woke up earlier than necessary just to get ready? Frank felt like that checked out. Frank woke up at 7, and was generally out the door by 7:30, and Frank himself woke up earlier than he had to. He could wake up at 7:30 and still make it to class on time; Gerard had been ready by the time Frank got out of bed. Their town wasn't big, so he knew Gerard likely didn't have a long commute to school. 

The next story was a song shared to Instagram from Spotify: _Vogue_ by Madonna. What point did Frank make earlier about Gerard being a better gay again? 

Frank tapped to view the next story - the most recent one - and smiled at what he saw. It was a picture from his school's art room, captioned: "New school's art room gets a 10/10!!! <3" Frank thought Gerard's excitement over a high school facility was pretty adorable. 

He then moved on to the posts, starting at the most recent one. It was a photo of Gerard at an airport, standing next to a boy with bleached hair and a middle aged woman. Gerard and the boy - who Frank assumed was Mikey - had suitcases, but the woman did not. The woman bore a striking resemblance to them, especially to Mikey, and Frank quickly figured that must be their mother. No one in the photo appeared to be very happy, he noted. Gerard in particular looked like he hadn't slept in days, heavy bags under his eyes and his clothes grey and boring - so unlike the Gerard he was growing familiar with. The location was tagged at _Charles de Gaulle_ airport, which Frank discovered was in Paris after a Google search. The post caption simply read, _"Adieu France!"_ and was dated to the week prior.

Had Gerard spent his summer vacation in Paris? That was pretty enviable, Frank thought. But why wouldn't their mother have a suitcase too? That didn't make a lot of sense. 

Frank decided to move on to the next post: a picture of Gerard sitting cross-legged in front of a vibrant violet bush, a violet flower tangled in his hair to match. He looked much happier in this photo, Frank observed, a small but genuine tight lipped smile gracing his face. The flow of his hair made it seem like a gentle breeze was blowing when the photo was taken, and Gerard's eyes were shut peacefully, as if he had closed them to enjoy the gentle wind. Frank thought the photo enhanced Gerard's sweetness in the most flawless way imaginable. The location was tagged at _Parc Floral de Paris,_ and he didn't need to speak French to know what that meant. The photo was dated to June of that same year, and Gerard hadn't posted anything else over the summer. 

Three months in Paris? That seemed like a hella long vacation to Frank. Who could afford hotels for that long? And who would spend a whole three months in Paris without showing it off on Instagram at least once? Again, something seemed off.

The next post down was from March, and it was a selfie of Mikey and Gerard. Frank remembered the comment he had made about Mikey's appearance, and he definitely saw what Gerard meant when he described the boy as "pointy". Mikey looked like someone took Gerard's skeleton and sharpened the bones. His hair wasn't bleached yet, and was instead a dark brown. He was wearing the same red jacket Frank had seen him wear at school, but instead wore a zebra print shirt under it.

What the hell was it with that boy and animal print? Frank didn't know if it was due to his vegetarianism, but he absolutely _despised_ animal print clothing. He thought it never looked flattering, no matter how fancy the design. Frank didn't have many opinions regarding fashion, but he knew he hated anything animal print.

Frank noticed the two boys were posing in front of a large glass structure, and thought _duh_ when he noticed the location was tagged at the Louvre. So Gerard had also been in Paris in March. Huh. Frank quickly scrolled down through the rest of the photos, and noticed all of Gerard's pictures seemed to be tagged in various locations in Paris, only a few pictures tagged in Jersey over Christmas break and the previous summer. In one of the photos tagged in Jersey, Gerard sat next to a middle aged man, who looked like him in the same way that middle aged woman had looked like Mikey. His father, Frank deduced. It occurred to him - had Gerard been living in Paris until then? Who the hell would move from beautiful Paris to… whatever New Jersey was? 

At this point, Frank was becoming aware of the fact he was probably in too deep, but he didn't stop. Instead, he returned to the selfie of Gerard and Mikey at the Louvre, checking if Gerard had tagged Mikey in the post. He hadn't. Luckily, Frank was a detective, and his keen investigative mind noticed the photo had two comments. When he checked them, he saw one of them belonged to Gerard, in reply to another user: _@mikeyway. Hah,_ Frank laughed to himself. The Way brothers really weren't that creative with their social media handles. The comments were in French, and Frank remembered Instagram's translating feature didn't work on comments. Whatever. 

He tapped on Mikey's profile, and briefly thanked whatever deity looking after him that the account was public.

Mikey had way more followers than Gerard at a solid 1.3k. He also had twice as many photos, most of them from events like concerts and social gatherings. Gerard was by himself in almost every one of his posts, but Mikey seemed to never be alone in his pictures. He was never in large groups, Frank noticed, but he had several photos with different groups of people. Was he a social butterfly? While Gerard's photos had mostly been pretty and artistic, Mikey's were simple and seemed hardly thought out. Like he had been out with his friends, gone "Hey guys! Let's take a photo together!", taken the photos straight on the Instagram app, and posted them without a second take. He hardly even captioned his posts. Frank feared people who lived spontaneously like that. 

Mikey posted photos with Gerard pretty regularly. And unlike Gerard, he had posted over the summer. However, none of those photos contained Gerard. When Frank checked the comments, he noticed Gerard hadn't commented on any of the photos either. Was it normal for teenagers to comment on their sibling's social media posts? Frank was an only child, so he didn't really know. But as far as he could tell, Gerard went AWOL over the summer, at least online. 

Frank put his phone down. Was he going crazy? Surely it wasn't normal for people to put this much time and effort into stalking someone they just met. But Gerard wasn't normal. Why was he special? 

Frank then took the time to check his surroundings. The sun had gone down since he walked in, and his bedroom was now almost completely dark. He reached over the desk to flip a light switch, striking him in lighting he hadn't realized would be too harsh until it was too late. He winced in a flash, closing his eyes to shield himself from the attack upon his senses. It took him a few seconds to get used to the light, but when he did, he noticed that he messed up his bed earlier by throwing his bag onto it. Frank couldn't stand it when his room was messy, and it felt like an external force made him stand up to organize his bedsheets. 

He had only started stretching out the sheets when he started feeling like his room was too… empty. What was he missing?

Right. Frank always played music when he was in his bedroom. He was so absorbed in his social media fiasco earlier that he had forgotten a key part of his routine. 

That was new. Frank _never_ forgot a part of his routine. He had the tendency of operating on auto-pilot most of the time, and his routine was like part of his programming - etched into his very bones. He quickly worked to fix it, walking over to his record player and resetting the needle to the start of the record already on the turntable. David Bowie's lovely voice quickly poured into his bedroom, and Frank walked back over to his bed, feeling instantly comforted by the familiar setting. Yes, he had already listened to this record a thousand and one times; there was absolutely nothing new to it. But that's what comforted Frank. For something to be new, it must be unknown, and Frank feared the unknown perhaps more than anything else in the world. 

It occurred to him then, that Gerard had captivated his attention due to that exact reason. Absolutely everything about Gerard was new, which Frank found _terrifying._ However, a deeper part of him urged for a taste; he longed for just a little pinch of novelty. And Frank, even more so than being stubborn, was incredibly self-indulgent. He acted on impulse to avoid overthinking, which meant his actions were either incredibly thought out or not at all. 

The stress of Gerard's sudden apparition into his life had taken a toll on him, however, and Frank thought a little comfort couldn't hurt. He picked up his copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ from his bookshelf. He'd read that book so many times, he could recite all his favorite parts off the top of his head, exactly like J. D. Salinger had written them. Frank sat on his bed, making sure to take off his shoes before laying down and opening the book up to chapter one. He read with practiced ease, feeling relaxed as he already knew what to expect from the text. The music in the background relaxed him as well, as he knew no sound could possibly catch him by surprise. 

Before he knew it, Frank had fallen asleep, book splayed out across his chest and the lights still on.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

When he walked into the kitchen the following morning, Linda greeted Frank with a question.

"I didn't see you at dinner last night, boy. What happened?"

Frank sat down, brushing his still-wet hair off his face. "Fell asleep early."

Linda stared at him for a few seconds, cocking an eyebrow before continuing her line of questioning, "Your hair is wet. Did you shower?"

Frank initially wanted to reply to that question by saying _No, mother, I went for a swim in the toilet to start off my day,_ but Frank quite valued his life, so instead he just said, "Yes."

His mother hummed, "That's unusual. You never take showers in the morning. You always shower after dinner."

"True, but yesterday I fell asleep before that, and I woke up feeling super grimy and gross. So I showered." Frank made sure to soften his tone to avoid sounding like he was talking back. His mom was pretty great, and he felt comfortable around her, but she did not allow anyone disrespecting her - and Frank understood that.

Linda simply nodded, dropping the conversation topic, instead gesturing towards the table which was again filled with what was enough breakfast to feed a Viking fleet. "Since you skipped dinner, I'm guessing you must be hungry. Eat up."

Once she mentioned it, Frank realized he was indeed starving, and for once felt grateful for his mother's exaggerated cooking. Immediately, he dug into everything he could, devouring his breakfast like a man possessed. 

After a rewarding breakfast, Frank made his way to school with renewed vigor. Although he was thrown slightly off-rhythm by not waking up to a previously prepared outfit and showering outside his regular shower time, Frank was well-rested and well-fed before school for the first time in his living memory. And he felt clean as hell! Maybe he should take up morning showers and earlier bedtimes; he felt great.

He waltzed into school with an unusual bounce to his step, attracting a few looks that indicated he might've been a tad too excited for a Tuesday morning. 

Frank liked Tuesdays now. He didn't have any class first period, and was instead placed in study hall for the first hour and a half of the day. Study hall was good for Frank - it was when he did his calc and physics work, which never failed to make him feel smart. Starting the day off feeling like a little bit of a genius never hurt anybody.

When he approached his locker, he noticed Gerard was already there, Mikey by his side and his arm buried inside his own locker. Frank figured he was probably looking for something, and when he walked by Gerard, he saw he was correct: Gerard's right arm was almost entirely buried in a pile of papers, notebooks, and random items Frank couldn't possibly imagine a use for at school. _A compass?_ Who the hell needed that while in high school? 

Frank briefly took the time to investigate Gerard's look. Instead of having a flower crown, that day he wore a bright floral pin on the side of his hair, a yellow buttercup shining against his dark locks. His sweater was also yellow, soft like the pastel shade on his nails. After a few seconds of checking Gerard out in what Frank hoped was a subtle way, he thought that he should actually talk to the boy.

"You know, you should really clean your locker, dude." 

Gerard jumped at Frank's words, turning to face him without withdrawing his arm from the sea of crap surrounding it. Gerard's face contorted into a look of deep confusion, as if he was thinking: _"Clean my locker?! What kinda bullshit advice is that?"_

Whatever Gerard was thinking, he didn't say it, because he just grunted in response and turned to face his locker again.

Another voice did speak to him, however, "Oh, you must be Frank! Gerard told me about you. I'm Mikey." Mikey pulled Frank into a hug, which Frank thought was strange, as his style generally worked as a stranger-repellent. Mikey didn't seem to care, and didn't wait for Frank to gather his thoughts and hug him back before removing his arms from Frank's torso. 

"I'm sorry about this guy," he gestured towards Gerard. "He's grumpy because he's old."

Gerard sighed, clearly a little bit annoyed. "Mikey, I'm only a year older than you." 

Mikey laughed. "Funny how one year can feel like one century sometimes!"

"Piss off, Mikey."

Frank was shocked. He could never speak to Gerard like that - mocking and snarky. He felt Gerard was too soft, too fragile. Clearly, Mikey didn't think the same. He seemed to be there simply to watch Gerard struggle with the materials in his locker, because he stood by, leaning against the door and watching Gerard in humorous amusement. Frank noticed his outfit for the day: a cheetah printed shirt paired with a neon green jacket, orange flannel pants, and purple shoes with yellow laces. It was an outfit Pete would definitely wear.

He didn't know if he should introduce Mikey and Pete; they would either neutralize each other and produce shockingly good outfits, or combine their powers of bad fashion and produce outfits so ugly they'd both get thrown in jail. Frank didn't know if he was ready for a duo that powerful yet. 

"He was right, though. You do need to clean your locker."

"Yeah," Frank jumped in, "how do you even find anything in there?"

"Well, Frank." Gerard stared at Frank, then back at his arm buried inside his locker, then back at Frank. "Clearly, I don't."

"Gerard, don't be an old grump," Mikey said lightheartedly before turning to face Frank. "Don't bother with him. Our coffee machine broke this morning and he gets all bitchy without his coffee."

Frank then suggested, "You know, there's still time to do a coffee run."

Gerard turned to face Frank so fast, Frank thought he must've gotten whiplash from moving like that. "Really? I don't know where anything is in this town yet."

"Yeah, there's a coffee house not too far from here. I could drive you. I have study hall first period anyways."

Mikey chuckled, and out of the corner of his eye, Frank could've sworn he saw Mikey briefly smirk at Gerard.

"You'd do that?" Gerard said, finally withdrawing his arm from his locker.

"Of course."

Gerard turned to Mikey, who just nodded at him and said with a coy smile, "Go ahead, then." 

Frank thought Mikey seemed like he knew something no else did.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

That brief coffee run was the theme of most of Frank's thoughts until lunch time. He couldn't stop replaying in his head the look on Gerard's face when the barista called his name and he retrieved his coffee, eyes glittering like he had won a huge prize. When Gerard took his first sip, he let out a moan which Frank could clearly tell was unintentional, but that still echoed in his head like the catchiest of songs. The thought that he would indeed like to hear that sound again, perhaps under slightly different circumstances, did cross Frank's mind - but, he avoided indulging that stream of thought too much, since he did not need to draw even more attention to himself after what happened in the cafeteria yesterday. 

As the bell signalling the start of lunch rang, Frank stood up off his seat excitedly and marched to the cafeteria, not even searching for Patrick or Pete like he usually did. 

He was going to sit down with Gerard Way. Surely their coffee run in the morning had brought them close enough for that to be the next logical step.

Frank was elated - he couldn't believe it! If he ever had a day this great before, he didn't remember it. When had he ever successfully charmed a boy? Never. Yet there he was, doing exactly that. For a brief moment, Frank even considered that perhaps he was becoming a master of seduction of sorts. He couldn't think of anyone better- oh.

When Frank stepped into the cafeteria, his gaze immediately locked with Gerard's. But he didn't have the same look he had given him at the coffee house - bright and warm. Instead, Gerard's face was downturned in disappointment. It was a look of melancholic animosity.

And it was aimed straight at Frank. 

Gerard's glare was so heavy, Frank felt himself look away to avoid it ripping a hole straight through his skull. However, the sight before him was equally as bad when he tore his eyes away from Gerard's gaze: Brendon Urie sat next to Gerard, talking to him despite him not facing Brendon in return. At the table, he could see the other two faces that had turned his high school social life into a blazing warzone: Ray Toro and Hayley Williams.

He turned to face Gerard again, and Frank saw it. Gerard knew. And Frank knew that he knew. It was a silent understanding between the two of them. Frank knew Brendon must've told Gerard all about their conflict, and why the two groups acted with such bitterness towards each other. 

The look of sheer disappointment in Gerard's eyes was, without a doubt, more hurtful than any fight he ever had with Ray, Hayley, or Brendon. All too suddenly, Pete and Patrick's absences hit him like two kicks straight to the back. 

As soon as he felt hot tears threaten to escape his eyes, Frank ran.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Frank almost punched the door open when he got home. He dragged himself inside, slamming the door shut behind him once he was past its threshold. 

"Frank Iero!" His mother yelled, "You will not slam the door like that!" He could hear her footsteps coming towards him, _stomp stomp stomp._ The angry expression on her face softened when she approached him, though, immediately noticing the tears streaming down his face.

"Darling..." She took off Frank's backpack, placing it on the floor by the door. "What happened?"

"I… I can't say..." He wiped away at his face with the back of his hand, scrubbing it dry on the side of his shirt.

"Why not?"

"I'd have to… I'd have to tell you something else." He avoided her gaze, tears still flowing down his face.

"Frank, look at me." Linda placed one hand on the side of his face, wiping away a tear with her thumb. "Come here," she said, beckoning him to follow her. She lead them to the couch, patting down the spot next to her once she sat down.

Frank sat, drawing his knees to his chest as a protective shield. 

"Frank, you know you can tell me anything, right?" He finally looked at her, and was met with a soft expression. His mother was gently smiling at him, and he knew she was being sincere. 

"Promise you won't be mad?" Frank asked, his voice weak and small compared to his mother's steady mature tone.

She looked at him with honesty and integrity, "I promise." She extended her right pinky out to him; the two of them only ever made pinky promises on the most serious of circumstances. Frank wrapped his own pinky firmly around his mother's.

"I'm… I'm..." he stuttered. Why couldn't he get the words out? It was such a short statement, why couldn't he make it? 

Linda drew her left hand and placed it over Frank's right where their hands were linked, giving it a reassuring squeeze as a reminder of her promise to him. 

This gave him the extra courage he needed, and before he could start overthinking, he blurted out, "I'm gay," his pinky still laced tightly with his mother's. 

Her grip on his hand didn't relent, but she didn't respond either. When Frank finally got the courage to look back up at her, he noticed her expression hadn't changed at all. It was still kind and welcoming, as if he hadn't spoken at all. She unwound her pinky from his, instead using that hand to hold Frank's warmly in hers.

Finally, after what felt like a century, Linda spoke. 

"Darling… if I told you something, would you promise not to be mad?"

Frank was baffled. He had just come out to his mom, and she was... telling him a secret? He didn't understand this response, but still repeated the words his mother had told him not too long before, hoping to get an explanation for her words.

"I promise."

She remained in silence for a few seconds more, and Frank watched her expectantly. When his mom finally spoke, she definitely didn't say the words he had expected to hear upon coming out.

"Frank, I already knew that." 

Frank had thought up every scenario imaginable for his coming out. He thought of his mother kicking him out of the house. He thought of her being shocked, yet supportive. However, the one scenario he hadn't thought of was _this one._

"Wait, what? How?" 

She laughed, reaching out with the sleeves of her sweater to dry off the remaining tears on Frank's face.

"You told me when you were a little boy. I'm guessing you forgot. I thought you were out this whole time, actually."

Frank cursed himself, "God, of course. Me and my big fucking mouth."

"Aye, watch your language!" his mom warned, not actually sounding upset at his swearing. "So… I'm guessing you told me this because you're crying over a boy?"

Frank blushed, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously, "Yeah..."

"I didn't know there was a boy in your life. Tell me about him." 

"Well…" Frank started, "This new guy, Gerard, joined this year. We're locker buddies, but he's also in my English class. You know how I'm terrible at English?"

Linda nodded.

"Well, he's absolutely brilliant. We're reading this stupid play about some guys who just sit around and wait for the whole time, and he can find so many meanings in it that I could never see. It's like he has a pair of eyes that I don't. He knows all these words I don't know too. And God, he's so cute. Cuter than anyone I've ever seen before. If you asked me to come up with a cuter person, I don't think I could do it." 

Linda looked baffled, "So how did this adorable boy make you cry?"

"It wasn't exactly his fault. I was trying to bring him into our friend circle. I even took him to get coffee this morning because he was grumpy and his brother said he was always in a bad mood without his coffee. We were getting along so well. But then when I went to meet him at lunch-" Frank was interrupted by his own weeping; he hadn't noticed that he had started crying again over the memory.

His mother encouraged him to continue, "When you went to meet him at lunch..."

"Right. When I went to meet him at lunch, he was sitting with them. Ray, Brendon, and Hayley. They told him everything. They told him about the fight - I could see it in his eyes."

Linda raised her eyebrows in shock but stayed silent, waiting for Frank to finish.

"He looked so disappointed in me, mom." Frank knew he was fully sobbing again at this point, but continued talking regardless, "It was like… like he had been there the whole time. He's too sweet, mom, he's too sweet to get involved in something this ugly," he finally finished, feeling terrible about what happened, but also like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Frank… this fight needs to end, you know this. You all used to be friends freshman year."

"I know! We tried fixing it, but it seems like no one wants to change their minds. Brendon's convinced Pete did it, he convinced Hayley and Ray of it at least, but the three of us know he didn't!"

"Are you..." Linda started, sounding hesitant for the first time that evening. "Frank, I know you might not want to consider this because Pete's your friend, but have you considered the possibility of Brendon being right? What if Pete did it, Frank? Brendon has every right to be upset if he did."

"But he didn't! Patrick and I were with him the whole weekend." 

"You know it could've been done through a simple text, Frank."

Frank already had this argument a million times. "But it wasn't! Why on earth would Pete do that? He didn't have any bad blood whatsoever with Brendon. Like you said, we were all friends."

"That much I cannot answer, my dear boy. The heart works in mysterious ways after all. But this conflict is old news. I'm more curious about the current news - let's not deviate from the matter at hand. This boy..." she paused briefly, trying to remember his name.

"Gerard."

"Right, _Gerard,_ do you think you could make things right with him? Explain your side of the story? So far he only heard Brendon's side. Maybe he'll change his mind if you explain your side."

"Do you think he'll give me a chance?"

Linda smiled at him. "I don't know, but given how you've fallen for him already, don't you think it's worth trying?"

"I haven't fallen for him." Frank disregarded, "I know I could, and that I probably will, but I haven't yet."

"Darling… acknowledging you'll fall for someone is over halfway of the fall. If you feel strongly enough about him to know that the fall exists, it's because you're already close enough to see the ground."

Frank was silent for a few seconds, stunned. "Goddamnit mom! Why do you have to be so fu-freaking smart? I can't win any arguments with you," Frank groaned in frustration.

His mom smiled, because of course, she knew that.

"I need to go make dinner, darling." She kissed his forehead and stood up, "Think about what I told you. Talk to Gerard as soon as you can. Explain your side of the story. And if it doesn't work, pay him no mind. Boys are stupid anyway, you'll learn soon enough."

 _"So stupid..."_ Frank repeated to himself, knowing very well that Gerard was not actually stupid, but that the illusion helped soften the blow of his disappointment.

That night when Frank went to bed, he quickly fell into a dreamless slumber, his heart heavy, yet his mind clearer than it had been in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Loving you is cherry pie..."
> 
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> In other news, stan Linda Iero. Her and Mikey are the only characters worth stanning in this fic.
> 
> I really felt Frank in this chapter. I also despise animal print.
> 
> Next chapter is called Monster and it will reveal the full details of the fight between the two groups!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	3. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Boy, now get your paws right off of me!"

"Good morning, Gerard." 

Gerard seemed not to have noticed Frank approaching him, but when he turned to face Frank, he took a step back - maintaining his distance. 

Frank felt like he had missed something. When did he become radioactive? He didn't feel like he appeared to be very dangerous.

"I..." Gerard's eyes were wide, laced with both uncertainty and fear. "I think it's best if we don't talk."

What? Those words hit Frank like a punch straight to the gut. Quickly, that pain turned into indignation, and he began feeling the telltale heat in his chest that he hated so very much. The heat that turned him into someone he absolutely despised. "What the fuck? No! I know they told you, Gerard." 

Gerard shrugged with an indifference that cut straight through Frank's heart - sharp and clean. "So what if they did?"

Frank took a deep breath, then another for good measure. The last thing he needed to do was to show Gerard a side of him that would actually give him a reason to hate him. "If you can hear them out, you can hear me out too."

"I don't owe you anything, Frank."

"It's not about owing me anything!" Frank said in exasperation. "It's about listening to both sides of a story before passing judgement!"

Frank could see Gerard contemplate his words for a while, mentally weighing their worth. It seemed like he had said the right thing, however, because Gerard hesitantly agreed with him after a few seconds. "Alright. Tell me, then." Frank opened his mouth to talk, but was quickly interrupted by Gerard before he could make a sound, "And spare no details. Even the ones that make you look bad."

Frank could do that. 

"So, freshman year, the six of us were all friends. Brendon and Pete were good friends from middle school and came here together. Hayley and I went to the same middle school as well, and we knew each other too, but we weren't as close. We were all at the freshman induction together and the six of us became friends from that point onwards."

Gerard nodded, and Frank understood he probably wouldn't say anything until he was done talking. He continued.

"And for all of freshman year, things were fine. Over the summer between freshman and sophomore year, Pete's family brought Brendon down to Illinois with them since they go every vacation and Brendon didn't have any plans for the summer. While there, Brendon came out to Pete. He was the first person Brendon came out to, and also the only one. Of course, Pete supported him, and that was that. Fast forward to the start of sophomore year, and the six of us are still fine. The first week of sophomore year went by without any problems, and Brendon still hadn't come out to anyone except for Pete."

When Frank paused, he noticed Gerard was still watching him in silence, urging him to keep going.

"The first weekend of sophomore year, Patrick invited us to his house for a movie marathon. Ray, Brendon, and Hayley couldn't go since they were buried in work from the first week of class, so it was only Pete, Patrick, and I. We left school on Friday afternoon, and still, everything was fine between the six of us. Over the weekend, Pete, Patrick, and I didn't check our phones since we were so absorbed in the movies. Pete didn't tell either of us that Brendon had come out to him, and we truly had no idea."

"But, come Monday morning, Brendon was nowhere to be seen. When I got to school, Hayley was yelling at Pete with what I could only describe as pure rage. I had never seen anyone so angry, and I don't think I ever will again. She was _fuming._ I saw her grab Pete by his collar, and given how angry she was, I was concerned that she'd act in a way she'd grow to regret, so I intervened. I asked her to let go of Pete and explain why she was so angry. So she told me what happened." 

"Brendon had been outed over the weekend and his parents kicked him out of their house. Apparently, Ray and Hayley tried to contact us all weekend, but we didn't see the texts because of our movie marathon. Since Pete was the only person Brendon had come out to up until that point, they all assumed Pete was the one to out him. Except he wasn't. Patrick and I tried explaining to Hayley that we were with Pete the whole weekend and that nothing had happened, but they didn't believe us." 

"The fact Patrick and I were defending Pete tore our group right in half. Luckily, Brendon's grandparents took him in and he turned out fine. But, the fact someone had outed Brendon in the first place was enough to make the conflict run deep. It wasn't a fight we could just recover from, because no one was willing to compromise. Ray, Brendon, and Hayley were convinced Pete did out Brendon, while Patrick and I maintained that he didn't. Pete also didn't want to take the blame for something he didn't do. And none of us were changing our stories."

"Over the years, this conflict failed to disappear. Instead, our dislike for each other and our unwillingness to change turned out to be the perfect recipe for a rivalry. What was only a battle turned into a war, because none of us were willing to just take the last shot. We always needed to fire back no matter what. And now, two years later, here we are. I will admit, over the past two years I've done things I'm not proud of. Hell, you saw me throwing a juicebox at Ray in the cafeteria two days ago. But now that this conflict has two years worth of fights to feed it, it's like both our groups have an even bigger reason to dislike each other than we did originally."

"Well..." Frank eyed Gerard, waiting for a response. "That's my side of the story. Are you gonna say anything?"

Finally, after a long awaited silence, Gerard spoke.

"I don't think I believe you," he said, a surprising coldness to his voice.

_"What?"_

"I mean, I think Pete did it."

Frank could not believe his ears. Surely he had misheard. Was Gerard really going to go against him in this? "Gerard, he didn't do it. Pete didn't out Brendon. I know it."

Gerard crossed his arms, creating a barrier between the two boys. "If Pete didn't do it, who could it have possibly been? You said so yourself that Brendon hadn't come out to anyone but Pete." He straightened his back out, growing even taller, glaring down at Frank, "Tell me then, Frank, _who outed Brendon?"_

"That's the thing, _I don't fucking know._ I wish with my entire being that I did, that I knew the truth, so we could put this all behind us."

Gerard raised his eyebrow, "Have you considered that you've known the truth all along, but just refuse to accept it?"

This was exactly like arguing with his mother. Frank knew Gerard could argue circles around him, but he couldn't drop it now. He started this argument and he would stick it out until the end. 

Frank raised his voice, "Gerard, I don't even know why you're getting involved in this. You just got here two days ago and now you're acting like you've been here all along!"

It was then that Frank noticed it. As soon as he began letting out all the ugly feelings he felt, threatening to come out of his throat like word vomit. That was it: the fire burning deep inside his chest - the vivid hell flames that consumed him when he began feeling with everything he had. He felt the heat too. The emotions that were previously just simmering were now growing to a full, brazen boil. 

And they were starting to bubble over. 

"Frank, what I did was normal. I met someone, discovered more about them, and made a judgement. That's what people do. They learn facts and then make conclusions. All I did was-"

Before Frank could even blink, he grabbed a piece of Gerard's soft coral sweater and slammed him onto the surface of his closed locker. Not to hurt him, but to keep him in place - as if that'd make Gerard listen to him. He thought Gerard would be angry, that he'd push Frank away and tell him to fuck off, but that's not what he did. 

Gerard _froze,_ staring straight at Frank in an attentive yet unmistakably bold silence, challenging him, his lips threatening to form a sly smirk. As Frank inched closer and closer, crowding Gerard into place, he didn't break the fierce eye contact between them. Not even for a split second. Frank instantly felt an explosion of power flowing through his veins; he was unstoppable.

For a few brief moments, Frank felt like a _god._

It was a feeling he had never quite gotten before, and he was an addict from the very first taste. 

_"You liked me,_ Gerard, you _know_ you did. Before Brendon and the others dragged you into this. You welcomed me into your life. I saw all of it. I see through you like I know you see through me."

Gerard's resounding silence told Frank he was correct. When Gerard finally spoke, though, he didn't repeat Frank's vicious tone. Instead, his voice was barely above a whisper. His tone not weak and small but rather calm and sure. 

"To want and to like are not the same thing."

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

At lunch, Frank thanked every deity possible for Patrick and Pete. 

No matter what happened, the casualness of their friendship never failed to be comforting. Although they often had the same conversations, listened to the same music, and overall did the same things, their predictability made them safe. While Frank never knew what was going to come out of Gerard's mouth, he could always in one way or another predict Patrick or Pete.

Of course, with the exception of Pete's clothes. Those really were unpredictable. 

So, when he walked into the cafeteria and spotted Patrick and Pete already there, sitting in their usual spot, Frank felt a huge relief wash over him.

"Guys, I have news," he said as soon as he sat down. Given their fixed routines, none of them often had news. Thus, when Frank said this, it was a bigger deal than you'd expect it to be.

Patrick lit up, "Oh my God! What happened?!"

"Well… yesterday when I got home from school..." Frank started.

"Uh-huh?" Pete nodded.

"My mom was there..."

Pete nodded again, _"Uh-huh?"_

"And we started talking..."

Pete interrupted, _"Oh my fucking God,_ Fred, you are _killing_ me here. Just fucking tell me what happened already before I strangle you."

Patience was a virtue. And Pete Wentz did not have it.

"Jesus, alright. Long story short, I came out to my mom," Frank finally revealed.

Patrick gasped in shock, his mouth upturned in a slight smile, "How did she react?"

"She told me she already knew. Apparently I told her as a kid and forgot about it."

"But was she fine with it?" Pete asked.

"Yeah. She didn't really seem to care. She told me she thought I'd been out this whole time."

Patrick and Pete turned to face each other. As soon as their eyes met, both boys burst into laughter, leaving Frank… rather confused.

"What's..." he asked, his voice overpowered by the boys' rambunctious laughter, "what's so funny?"

"Frank..." Patrick said, turning to face him. "I love you and all, but sometimes you can be..."

"I can be..." 

"... you can be… not very subtle sometimes. You can't hide your emotions. You're not that hard of a person to read," Patrick informed, clearly attempting to contain his laughter.

Of course, Frank knew this. Frank knew that whenever he was displeased, angry, or annoyed, his face told the world before he could. However, he couldn't just pass up an opportunity to mess with Patrick in a language he could understand.

"Boo, you whore." Frank said, in the most serious tone he could muster.

Instantly, the two other boys gasped at Frank. Their gasps were so loud, in fact, that numerous people turned to face them, wondering what had warranted such an intense response out of nowhere. "Did you..." Patrick whispered in shock, pointing at Frank with a shaking finger.

"Did _the_ Fred Lero just make a Mean Girls reference?"

Pete had been calling Frank by "Fred Lero," quite literally, since they met. When Frank first introduced himself to Pete, Pete had been wearing earbuds and was listening to music. Thus, he misheard Frank introduce himself as "Fred Lero" instead of "Frank Iero." Luckily, Frank thought this nickname was hilarious, and by now he was used to it anyways, so he was Fred Lero as far as Pete was concerned. 

"I did. Are you guys proud of me?" Frank asked playfully.

Pete nodded vigorously, and Patrick placed a hand over his own heart. 

"I feel like a proud father watching his young son graduate," Patrick said, appearing genuinely moved. "What is happening to you, Frank?"

That was indeed a valid question, because Frank did not know what was happening to him either. 

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Fourth period English that day was torture. Frank watched Gerard from his seat a few rows back, the raging fire inside pumping his body full of adrenaline. He watched as Gerard answered questions and made comments in frustrating brilliance. Why couldn't he have physics or calc with Gerard so he could make him feel pathetic and dumb like he did Frank? 

For the second day in a row, Frank sat in class replaying a morning encounter with Gerard. While yesterday he had played the soft joy on Gerard's gentle face, today he replayed a much different scene. Frank was still reeling from the surge of power he had gotten earlier. He remembered how he felt like he could do anything - like the entire universe had turned on its head to favor him and his every whim. 

Most importantly, Frank remembered how Gerard had _allowed_ him to feel like that. How he acquiesced immediately, like he was curious to meet the side of Frank he worked so hard to hold back. How Gerard's eyes weren't angry in displeasure, but rather bold in challenge.

Frank knew Gerard saw right through him. He felt it the day they met. Frank recalled how Gerard had made him feel exposed, as if he was naked, with no secrets to hide. It reminded Frank of the nightmares he used to have as a kid of being naked at school, minus the humiliation. 

It occurred to him then - Gerard didn't fear the monster Frank felt lived inside of him. No, much on the contrary. 

It intrigued him. 

Frank saw, the moment he slammed Gerard into that locker, that it seemed like a lightbulb had been lit above Gerard's head. Like he thought to himself, _"Well isn't that interesting?"_ as he stared back at Frank, eyes alive with curiosity. 

"Frank, is everything alright? You look distraught," his teacher asked, drawing all eyes in the room to him. 

Frank saw right away when Gerard turned to face him. No gaze was that powerful. If he were a world famous artist, he could pick out Gerard's stare in a sold-out stadium. Frank noticed the same bold playful look on his face, as if he'd been reading Frank's mind the whole time. 

Like he knew the full extent of the effect he had on Frank, and enjoyed it. 

"I'm alright, thanks," Frank dismissed haphazardly.

His teacher stopped pressing, and returned to the class without further questions. Before Gerard turned back around, however, Frank saw a small smirk show up on his face.

It wasn't just any smile. It was a taunt - a challenge of the most destructive yet delicious kind.

And Frank, more than he was stubborn, was so very self-indulgent.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Before he went home, Frank needed to get something done. He needed to talk to either Brendon, Hayley, or Ray. It didn't really matter which one of them he ended up speaking to, as long as it was one of them. Deep down, he hoped it wasn't Hayley, since she was a vicious arguer, but Frank was feeling brave that day. 

He would just talk to whichever one of them he found first, no matter wh- and there was Hayley Williams. _Great._

Frank approached her. She was on her phone and hadn't noticed him yet; Frank reconsidered his decision for a few moments. 

No. He had to get this off his chest.

"Hayley." 

She looked up at him, her expression immediately hardening. "Frank."

"I wanna talk to you."

Hayley pursed her lips, "About?"

Frank knew right away that he probably shouldn't have done this. However, he didn't want to just give up either, so this conversation was officially going to happen regardless of how shitty he felt about it. "Gerard," he replied, attempting to mimic her emotionless tone. 

"What about him?" she asked, faking innocence.

"Why did you guys have to bring him over to your side? I didn't know we were recruiting more people to join our petty drama." Frank crossed his arms, like he had seen Gerard do earlier, hoping it would offer him some sense of security.

"We didn't _recruit_ him, Frank. We _befriended_ him. Ray is in his Psych class and he thought Gerard seemed cool, so he invited him to hang out with us. Besides, why do you care?" Her eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to read fine text written on his face.

Frank suddenly felt like he was being x-rayed. "It… doesn't matter, alright? I'm just annoyed you'd bring someone as sweet as Gerard into something as ugly as this."

Frank could see the metaphorical gears turning in Hayley's brain. Although he didn't like to admit it, she had always been extremely clever. When they were still friends, Hayley could look at him and tell when he was hiding a secret before he could even tell her himself. She was a great friend, as he recalled, and was always very protective of anyone in their group. Frank figured that was why she was the worst of her group to fight: because she defended her friends with her nails, teeth, and incredibly sharp wit if she had to.

As she watched him, it seemed like something inside her brain clicked, because her expression went from stern to mischievous in a flash. "Ah, I see. You're into him." 

What the hell? How did she do that? Frank had to stop arguing with clever people because it was starting to take a serious toll on his self-esteem. He quickly made a note to himself about picking a fight with Brendon Urie someday. "No," Frank shook his head, "I just think it's wrong for you guys to involve yet another person, especially someone like Gerard. I think the six of us are more than enough." 

"Yes, you do think that, but you're also into him. I can see it in your face." 

Was everyone trying to get under his skin that day? "Just… listen to what I'm telling you. Don't involve him in this, alright?" 

"You know that can't happen, Frank," Hayley said in a tone that was slightly condescending.

"Why not?" 

"Because now you've gone and involved him yourself, haven't you?" she asked, a sly smile on her face.

"What? Did he tell you something?"

"No, but clearly you tried talking to him about it and it went badly."

Frank was starting to get a little annoyed. Why did it seem like everyone knew more than him at any given moment? That didn't seem fair at all. "How do you know that?"

"Well, you wouldn't come to me unless you absolutely had to. If we were all out in the wilderness and only I had food, you'd probably choose to starve to death. And Gerard isn't exactly a very intimidating person, so of course you'd go to him first," Hayley said, as if she was stating the most obvious thing in the world.

"But how do you know it went badly?"

She looked straight at him, sneering like she had just won the argument.

"Would you be here, had it gone well?"

_Checkmate._

At that point, Frank had to admit to himself that his attempt at sorting out the Gerard situation was unsuccessful.

"You know what, Hayley? Nevermind. Bye," he turned around away from Hayley, rolling his eyes in annoyance. 

He heard her call after him as he turned the halls, "Have a great evening, Frank!"

When Frank got into his car, he once again drove home at what was, frankly, a reckless speed. Luckily, he still obeyed all the traffic lights and managed to avoid getting a speeding ticket, reaching his house in record time. As soon as he walked in, Frank dragged himself up the stairs and walked into his room, feeling something was off. 

It wasn't anything off about his room or his house. It was something off about _him._

Although he had showered the previous day, Frank had never felt dirtier in his seventeen years of living. He didn't just feel dirty - he felt filthy, _disgusting._

He practically flew into his shower, ripping his clothes off in a clutter of garments. He turned on the shower and stepped inside, turning up the water as hot as he could possibly handle it. Frank stood under the water for a few minutes, completely immobile. He focused on the stinging on his back and his scalp - not quite painful, but making him tingle all over. 

This was good, he thought. 

Frank had always loved water. Ever since he was a kid, he always looked forward to a nice relaxing shower and was put in a much better mood after one. He also enjoyed swimming. Whether it be at a pool or the ocean, feeling water on his skin never failed to be soothing. He liked plunging himself fully underwater to enjoy the stillness. Nothing to see, hear, or feel. It was so unlike the usual chaos of his mind, that sometimes Frank found himself wishing he could breathe underwater so he could stay down there forever.

He did almost drown once as a preteen. Frank was at a public pool in New York with his mother and his foot got caught in a cleaning tube when he took a dive, trapping him underwater. Luckily, his mother noticed his absence and pulled him out just as he began losing consciousness. Although many would have their love of water killed by an incident like this, almost drowning only further gave Frank the conscience that if he were any earthly material, he'd be water; great power to heal, and perhaps even greater power to harm.

That was why he saw his emotions as fire. Because although he often had the power to control the flames, put them out before they could grow, they also had the ability to make him boil over. The fire of his emotions often evaporated him - making him lose his sense of self, falling victim to the whims of whoever was pulling his marionette's strings. 

Frank then decided to shampoo his hair, quickly reaching out to the shampoo he had been using regularly since discovering it in middle school. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right? He squeezed some of it onto his hands and began scrubbing it into his hair, paying more attention than usual not to miss a spot. He scratched the top of his head, his temples, behind his ears… he scratched until his arms ached from holding them up. Frank stepped back under the water to rinse out the shampoo, then reached back to the bottle and squeezed more into his hand, washing his hair again.

By the time he was done with the second shampoo and conditioning, Frank felt like his arms were going to fall off from the exertion. He stood under the spray, stilling his body again, relaxing his arms and letting the water soothe the muscles. All too suddenly, he became aware of the nasty feeling on his body, as if he had just returned from a long summer jog. 

After a few minutes of standing under the water, Frank reached for his loofah, covering it in soap and beginning to scrub himself. He scrubbed and scrubbed. He scrubbed until his skin started stinging more and more under the hot water, and then he scrubbed some more too. Frank scrubbed himself until he could no longer hold the loofah in his hands, fingers shaking from the scathing pain all over his body. It was then that Frank realized he had started crying, still feeling dirty despite never having been cleaner. 

He stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel and patting down his skin slowly as to not worsen the stinging sensation. When he stepped back out into his bedroom, he sat on his bed, still naked and still crying. His mind inevitably focused on his body again, not allowing him to think profoundly about anything else.

Frank noticed his armpits still felt sweaty and gross. The back of his neck and his hairline still felt sweaty and gross. In fact, his entire body felt sweaty and gross, from the skin between his toes to the folds of his eyelids. 

He knew then why he felt sweaty and gross: he was boiling over. The fire inside him was making him boil, and he felt gross because he was disgusted at the person he became whenever this happened to him. Frank knew he wanted something, and he knew that what he wanted was ugly.

He didn't want just kisses and cuddles. No. That normality would kill him. He wanted to feel the intensity of a decade of romance all at once. Frank wanted to indulge in all the desires he had spent his whole life suppressing: his possessiveness, his anger, his thirst for reciprocity. He wanted to know he affected someone else. That he could draw out reactions directly with his actions. 

Frank wanted to have someone wrapped around his finger. He wanted to bathe in the glory of the person's reactions, because he had caused them deliberately. He wanted that power trip he felt earlier with Gerard again. And again. And again. He wanted a love that walked the fine line between freedom and ownership.

Frank was on _fire,_ and Gerard was the liquid solution. Frank did not know, however, whether Gerard was water or ethanol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "That boy is bad, and honestly, he's a wolf in disguise."
> 
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> What do we think of the conflict between the two groups guys? Is anyone in the right?
> 
> Also, Hayley Williams is a top in this fic and no one can give me shit about it.
> 
> Next chapter will probably go down as one of my favorites. It's called Alejandro (Excited bc that's my favorite Gaga song and also for the frerard content)
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> -Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	4. Alejandro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't call my name, don't call my name, Alejandro..."

A few weeks passed since his argument with Gerard, and Frank was starting to think that the two of them had once again become strangers. In fact, Frank was starting to think that he had _died,_ because Gerard's ignoring skills were so good that for the most part, Frank felt like a _ghost._ Most days, Gerard wasn't at his locker when Frank arrived, but when he was, he refused to make eye contact with Frank for even a split second.

Of course, Frank still noticed Gerard. He noticed Gerard all the time. He noticed it when Gerard was piecing together multiple ideas brought up by their English teacher, brilliantly making connections Frank knew he could never make on his own. He noticed it when Gerard was annoyed at his makeup, fixing his lip gloss over his phone camera multiple times throughout the day. And, he noticed it when Gerard was eyeing him behind his back, turning around too quickly for Frank to read any emotions to clue him in on how Gerard actually felt about him. 

However, besides Frank's constant observing of Gerard, it was like they had never known each other. They were like two strangers sitting on neighboring seats in a subway cart; certainly aware of one another, but imaginary walls still very much up. 

Frank's life was, in many ways, almost back to normal. 

Until the notes started showing up.

He wasn't sure _when_ exactly they started showing up, but Frank was starting to find little notes everywhere. 

He found the first note on the first day of October. When Frank walked into school that morning, wrapped up in a leather jacket to combat the chilly winds as fall began to fully settle in, he hadn't expected much out of his day. As he opened his locker, he thought about the shitty day he was likely about to have as he had accidentally gotten up on the left side of his bed for the first time in months. However, when he opened his padlock and swung open his locker, he was greeted by a yellow post-it note on the floor of his locker, right by his feet. He looked around to check if anyone was watching him before picking it up, intrigued yet extremely confused.

Frank didn't get any less confused when he read the note either.

_"Your hair looked good that day you came into school with it wet. You should pick up morning showers._

_Warmly,  
\- Alejandro"_

_Alejandro?_ Frank didn't know any Alejandro. He didn't even think anyone he knew must have known an Alejandro. Also, what on earth? He had come to school with his hair wet almost a month prior to receiving that note. Frank didn't know people payed enough attention to him to remember a detail like that. He pocketed the note, making sure to fold it neatly in half before putting it away from sight.

The second note came the very same day, and it was even bolder than the first. When Frank left his backpack outside his chemistry lab, he was almost 100% positive that his bag had been note-less. However, when Frank opened his backpack upon leaving class, a post-it note sat inside his bag, bright yellow against the dark material.

_"That leather jacket is so sexy. Have you considered getting a lip piercing? I think it'd suit you._

_Sincerely yours,  
\- Alejandro"_

Was he being pranked? Frank seriously considered the possibility of this being a bad practical joke from Brendon, Ray, or Hayley. Although, even Frank had to admit that they had never played a practical joke this distasteful on him. Their pranks were largely physical, and Frank thought this seemed a little too emotionally manipulative, even for a rivalry that ran so deep. 

He became convinced the notes were legitimate, however, upon receiving the third one the following day. When Frank opened his locker at the end of the day, he found the note that changed everything.

_"Twitter: @material_boy_

_With love,  
\- Alejandro."_

Frank rushed to open Twitter, not even bothering to close his locker or even put the note down. He typed _@material_boy_ into the searchbar, mistyping it a couple of times as his fingers shook with excitement. Finally, once he typed the username correctly, an account under said username showed up.

The account was equally as puzzling. The user name was, as Frank expected, written as _Alejandro,_ which Frank had used his keen detective skills to deduce was an alias. The account's bio wasn't any less puzzling than the notes Frank received either. It read: _"Cuz we are living in a material world, and I am a material boy."_

What kind of person would just blatantly admit to materialism? Maybe this was ironic, and the person, Alejandro, was actually making an anti-capitalist statement? Frank was totally lost. Should he follow the account? He supposed that was why they had given it to him in the first place. But would he reveal himself too much if he did? No, he thought, the person sending the notes already knew who he was anyways. Not only that, but they were definitely paying more attention to Frank than anyone else. 

Frank hit "Follow" before realizing he was still standing in the middle of the hallway, most people already having gone home in the time he spent absorbed in the note and its contents. He looked around to see if anyone looked suspicious, but everyone in his surroundings seemed completely ordinary and oblivious to his inner turmoil. He rushed to pocket the note and shut his locker, making his way to his car in contemplative silence. Truthfully, Frank hoped the notes were coming from Gerard, but he doubted that possibility. Gerard had made it pretty clear so far that he wanted to distance himself from Frank, and although Frank didn't _like_ that at all, he respected it. What he craved, after all, was reciprocity; he longed to be wanted. 

On the drive home, Frank turned on the radio at a higher volume than usual, hoping the loud music would drown out his thoughts. For the most part, he was successful, as he only thought about the mysterious notes again as he pulled into his driveway. However, when he turned off the radio and parked his car, it was like all the thoughts he had postponed invaded his brain at once, making themselves overwhelmingly present all too suddenly. What if he never discovered who sent the notes? Frank didn't even _dare_ go down that line of thought, as the very prospect of having such a loose end out in the universe for the rest of his life was utterly terrifying. 

However, Frank didn't know what he feared more: the possibility of Alejandro being Gerard, or the possibility of Alejandro _not_ being Gerard. Both of those options sounded awful, because if Gerard was indeed the person behind the notes, it'd be the start of a horrible chain of emotions Frank knew he'd be entirely powerless to stop. But, if Gerard _wasn't_ the person behind the notes, he knew he'd have to reject someone out there, which just didn't sound like the type of conversation Frank was eager to have with anyone. 

When he stepped out of his car and approached the front door, Frank noticed he could hear loud music coming from inside his house. He smiled to himself. His mom always played music when she was in a particularly good mood, which meant Frank was about to have the best dinner ever. When he walked inside, the music became even louder, echoing through his brain like he had just walked into a concert. The song, although he couldn't name it, was familiar to Frank, as he recognized it from hearing his mother play it countless times. 

"Frank!" Linda yelled over the music, "Are you home? Come here, I have good news!" 

"I'm home!" he yelled back, shutting the front door and making his way to the kitchen. "What's up?"

His mother smiled at Frank when he walked in, putting a knife down and walking towards him, brushing her hands on her apron to wipe them clean. She placed her hands on her hips, proudly posing before saying, "Guess who just got promoted?"

Frank gasped excitedly at his mom, walking towards her to wrap her in a warm embrace, "Congrats mom! I'm so happy for you." It was true. Frank knew she'd been working towards this promotion for months, and although she could be strict sometimes, Frank loved his mother more than anything. They had been there for each other throughout the worst of moments, and Frank knew he was closer to his mom than the average teenage boy. 

"This is for us, baby. This is for us," she said, stroking his hair. Both of them knew this was significant. The memories of his father were still fresh in Frank's mind, and he knew this was an important step for his mother to gain her financial independence. His father had been a major dick to the both of them, but particularly his mom, and her finally being able to stand her own made Frank's heart go warm in pride.

They stepped away from the hug after long moments, and Frank wiped away a happy tear that had fallen from his mom's eyes.

"Mom, please don't cry," he pleaded through a smile. "You know that if you cry, I'll cry too." Although Frank's emotional intelligence wasn't very high, he was a sympathy crier; when someone he cared about cried, he inevitably cried too. It was even worse when it was his mom. 

"Yeah," she laughed. "You big crybaby. Now come on over and help me out. We're making celebratory apple pie," Linda said, dancing back to the counter where she had been when Frank first walked in. 

He followed closely behind her, washing his hands in the kitchen sink before standing behind the counter, his hands hovering over the various ingredients his mom spread out and patiently waiting for instruction.

Frank liked cooking with his mom. He thought it was relaxing, and that it helped tune off his mind for a while to focus on something that required his full attention. Additionally, eating delicious food he helped make himself never failed to make Frank feel good. 

"Alright, take the apple peeler from the drawer and start peeling these apples," his mom placed a bowl of green apples in front of him. "Then when you're done peeling all of them, chop them into cubes."

Frank quickly got to work, placing his undivided attention into the repetitive task at hand. He peeled apple after apple, cautiously moving the peeler across the fruit to avoid cutting his fingers on the blade. He thought that he should definitely pick up cooking as a hobby, because while he peeled and chopped those apples, his mind was more at rest than it had been in a long time. It was a lovely change of pace. Besides, the joyful and focused presence of his mother next to him seemed to dull out the buzz of his brain even better than sleep did. 

Frank's relationship with sleep had always been troubled. Most nights, he lay in bed with his mind going at a million miles an hour, not letting him drift off to get even a blink of sleep. And, when he did fall asleep, it was like only his body did so, because he often found himself in a restless slumber, waking up perhaps even more tired than he had been the previous night. Frank treasured the moments where his mind was dull and quiet, because that rest was even more rejuvenating than a night's sleep often was. 

His meditative focus was interrupted by his mother. 

"So, darling, how was school?" she asked while rolling some pie dough.

"It was alright," Frank answered casually, still chopping apples. "My calc teacher gave me some integration exercises first period and I couldn't solve one of them. It bugged me for most of the day. But besides that, nothing much." He avoided telling his mother about the notes. He knew Linda was likely to solve the mystery of who sent the notes before he could, but he wanted to give the writer more time before Frank discovered their identity. He was curious to see what they'd reveal under the veil of anonymity, and was eager to hear more. 

"I'm sure you'll solve it, darling. Maybe you just need to sleep it off," his mother suggested. It was a reasonable suggestion too; Frank had solved math problems after coming up with the solution in his sleep before. This was exactly what Frank meant when he said his mind was never at rest, not even when he slept - it was always working at one thing or another, an eternal buzz that never seemed to switch off. He only ever got good sleep when life exhausted him to the point of dragging him into a dreamless slumber. 

Frank hummed in response to his mom, finishing up his task and proudly admiring the neatly chopped apples in the bowl in front of him. He made a note to himself about becoming a professional apple chopper someday if his other plans failed.

"Now, add three-quarters of a cup of sugar and two tablespoons of flour to the apples. Make sure to mix well." 

Frank reached over the counter and opened a bag of sugar, measuring out three-quarters of a cup as precisely as he could and adding it to the bowl. Then, he turned to do the same with the flour, even using a knife to smooth out the edges of the tablespoon in order to get exactly two of them into the mixture. As Frank mixed the apples, his mother reached over and added some cinnamon to the bowl.

He briefly slowed down, but sped back up when his mother said, "Keep mixing," adding some nutmeg and a pinch of salt before telling him to stop. 

Linda then rolled some dough onto a pie dish, folding the edges to make the crust appear more pie-like. 

"Alright, now add all of this to the dish and smooth it out," she instructed.

Frank took the bowl containing the apple mixture and turned it over, spilling all the contents over the pie dough and smoothing out the top, feeling satisfied with how the pie was turning out. His mother then took some more dough and rolled it over the apple mix, folding up the edges and cutting some slits into the dough. She handed the pie over to Frank.

"Now take this and put it in the oven. Wear some mitts because it's already hot." 

Again, Frank did as instructed, briefly putting the pie down to put on some mitts before placing it in the oven. When he closed it, he felt a sense of accomplishment. He looked over at his mother, and noticed she had the same satisfied look he must've had.

"For how long does this need to bake?" he asked, removing his mittens.

"About fifty minutes," Linda answered. However, when she saw Frank smile in response, she added, "But oh! You're only having some after dinner, boy. Don't think I'll let you have dessert for dinner just because I'm in a good mood."

Frank faked a disappointed look. Of course, he wasn't saddened by this at all. Only being able to have pie after dinner just meant more food in total. When it came to having either pie plus dinner or just pie, he preferred pie plus dinner. In Frank's brain: 

_Pie + dinner > pie + nothing.  
Pie + nothing = less food  
Less food = bad  
More food = good  
Therefore, pie + dinner = good_

Frank was a bit of a mathematician, after all. 

"I have some homework I need to get done, so if you'll excuse me, I'll go upstairs."

Linda hummed, "Sure. Just make sure to come down right away when I call you to dinner."

"Okay," he nodded, making his way out of the kitchen and upstairs into his room. 

Frank didn't lie when he said he had homework that needed to be done. However, he failed to mention that he had absolutely _no_ intention of getting said homework done that afternoon. Frank was placed in study hall the following day before lunch and could get his work done then, so he rationalized this decision as not being reflective of a negative attitude towards his education. 

Instead, he walked over to his record player and played his regular David Bowie record, setting the domestic mood he loved so much. He then sat on his bed and drew his phone, immediately heading over to Twitter to stalk the new elusive user on his feed. Gerard had been relatively quiet on Instagram since their fight, only occasionally posting stories of his art or sharing Madonna songs from Spotify. Frank didn't bother to listen to the music Gerard shared; as previously established, he was stubborn about his music, and outright refused to listen to anything besides the songs he already knew by heart. Therefore, Frank was feeling a bit starved of internet content as of lately, so this recent development definitely had him on pins and needles. He turned on notifications for the account before he could even blink, not wanting to miss even a single update.

Two recent tweets from _@material_boy_ caught his attention, because they were about him. No, this wasn't just Frank drawing hasty conclusions, the tweets literally _mentioned him by name._ They read:

_@material_boy: Frank almost caught me slipping him a note today. I think I need to be more careful, monsters._

_@material_boy: Frank follows me now. Should we all be more subtle from here?_

_Monsters?_ Was that what Alejandro called his followers? How many did he have anywa- oh. He had 15.7k. Alright. That was enough to earn him the right to name his followers, Frank thought. He scrolled down, searching for more tweets about him, and was shocked at what he found. There were tweets stretching as far back as the start of the semester, the first one being from the very first day of class. The tweet didn't mention him by name, but Frank could tell it was probably about him.

_@material_boy: Cute punk guy in one of my classes asdjfgsdjhdg. Cute punk guy alert. Will update you guys on the situation._

Frank asked himself, was he cute? He wouldn't exactly call himself cute. He wouldn't call himself ugly either, but the verdict that he was cute, unquestionably given, definitely gave him a confidence boost. Sure, the tweet didn't mention him by name, but Frank was sort of his school's resident punk kid by now. The only other punk he was aware of was Hayley Williams, and she had the tiny issue of _not being a guy,_ so Frank gave himself the liberty of assuming the tweet was indeed about him. 

When Frank checked the replies to all the tweets about him - yes, he ignored the ones that weren't about him - he saw several users seemed to be engaged in the situation, excited for updates at every tweet. Was he an online celebrity of sorts? He hadn't been aware of his internet stardom. What an odd situation to be in, he realized. 

Frank then thought, should he _reply_ to the tweets? No, he decided, absolutely not. Alejandro's followers would likely come after him, and he wasn't prepared for that kind of attention. He'd wait a little longer for more notes and tweets to come from his secret admirer.

Did this even constitute as having a secret admirer? Probably, Frank figured, since their identity was in fact secret and he guessed that they seemed to be… _admiring_ him. That was both the secret and admirer boxes checked. _Secret admirer,_ he thought to himself, _is this what it's like? Odd._

Frank decided then that he needed some time with his friends; he needed the normality of Pete and Patrick again. They hadn't had a sleepover in a while, and Frank was genuinely starting to miss their time together. So, he texted their groupchat asking if they wanted to have a sleepover that weekend. The following day was Friday, so it was a little last-minute, but he hoped they'd still be up for it. 

Immediately, Pete replied, _"YES!!!!!!!!"_ and Frank thought he could almost hear it out of Pete's mouth. Pete texted the exact same way he spoke: loud, obnoxious, yet somewhat endearing. Frank waited briefly for Patrick's reply, as his was most important; they always hosted sleepovers at Patrick's house, as he had a larger television and cool parents, so his approval was the decisive factor. 

Soon enough, Patrick texted back, and the sleepover was officially on. Later, when Frank mentioned these plans over dinner to his mother, she seemed slightly irritated at the late planning, but still allowed him to go. He thought his presence in the kitchen earlier must've definitely helped him out - especially since the pie turned out to be absolutely delicious - but decided not to press her about it since he had already gotten what he wanted. 

Although his mother had told Frank to sleep off his math problem, not a single number crossed his mind all night.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Friday soon flew by, note-less and tweet-less. When he met Patrick and Pete outside school on Friday afternoon, Frank had almost forgotten about his secret admirer. Granted, he still spent his time in English class staring at Gerard, searching for any indication that he might've been his secret admirer - and of course finding none. But, when Frank wasn't in English, he did his best to absorb himself into his work, receiving compliments from a couple of teachers for being more productive than usual.

"Let's get going?" Patrick asked, gesturing towards Frank when he saw him leave the school gates. Pete was already next to him, and both boys seemed to have gotten a little impatient waiting for Frank. Frank had spent a few minutes after class slowly gathering his materials, hoping to give his admirer time to place a note inside his locker. However, once he got to his locker to find no notes at all, he ran out of school, hoping he hadn't left his friends waiting for too long. 

"Yeah, sorry for taking so long."

Patrick and Pete simply shrugged, not seeming too bothered by the minor inconvenience. They began walking to Patrick's house, which was a fifteen-minute walk from school. Although both Frank and Pete had driven to school, they decided to just leave their cars parked there as Patrick avoided cars whenever he could. 

Even though Patrick was the wealthiest out of the three, he was the only one who didn't own a car. This was due to his horrible fear of being in one; Patrick highly despised being in cars and avoided being inside of one at all costs. The only thing he hated more than being in a car was driving one himself, hence why he didn't own one and instead relied on Pete to get to school every morning. Most mornings in Jersey were rather chilly, and Patrick's parents didn't allow him to walk as they feared he'd catch a cold before even arriving at school. 

They had tried getting him a car on his sixteenth birthday, but Patrick immediately sold the car and bought himself a huge television and home-theater set, which permanently set him as the host of every sleepover from that moment onwards. Patrick just wasn't a car guy. His parents even tried getting him to take a driver's test, but as soon as he sat on the driver's seat Patrick started crying hysterically, scaring the examiner enough to call off his test completely. From that moment onwards, the fact Patrick hated cars was just a universally accepted truth.

Soon enough, they reached Patrick's house, settling into the familiar setting right away. Pete kicked off his shoes in two random directions, and Frank momentarily wondered how he'd later find them. Regardless, Pete seemed completely unbothered by this, forgetting about his shoes as soon as they were off his feet. 

Patrick's parents had been kind enough to place three mattresses on the living room floor, three blankets and multiple pillows also set on an armchair nearby. Frank hadn't spoken to Patrick's parents much, since they were usually working or traveling for work, but they were kind albeit busy people. Patrick's mom had a serious case of cool mom syndrome, and often allowed them to tap into their alcohol as long as they stayed away from trouble. Frank figured in turn that he had good boy syndrome, because he wasn't even imaginative enough to know what kind of trouble the three of them could get into in these circumstances. Regardless, Patrick soon stepped out of the kitchen and made his way to the living room, a six-pack in his hands and a cheeky grin on his face.

"A gift from my mom, guys!" he said proudly, as if he had bought the beers himself. 

Pete stretched his arms out like a cat, reaching for the six-pack and grabbing one before Frank could even recognize the brand on the case. He quickly opened it, twisting the cap open with suspicious ease. Patrick then removed a bottle from the pack, offering it to Frank.

Yes, he thought. Alcohol could definitely help. 

Although Frank didn't love the taste of alcohol, he did love the feeling of being drunk. It slowed down his brain and gave him a much-needed mental break. He recognized he was more inclined towards alcoholism than the average person due to his father, but he was also terribly self-indulgent, so Frank took the beer anyways. 

They sat there for a while, sipping their beers and making casual conversation like they had done many times before. At one point, Pete got up to grab some snacks from the pantry, leaving Patrick and Frank alone for a few minutes.

"Hey Frank?" Patrick asked when they were finally alone.

"Yeah?" he replied, taking a sip from his beer. 

Patrick looked up, as if he was reconsidering his question before shaking his head and asking, "Have you ever been in love?"

Frank was shocked to hear such a question from Patrick. He hardly ever asked personal questions, instead waiting for people to tell him things when they felt like it. However, there he was - asking Frank if he had ever been in love. 

"Yes," he replied. Alcohol often acts like truth serum, and Frank was no exception to its effects. 

Patrick seemed to consider that answer for a while, staring down at the floor introspectively before adding, "That Gerard boy, isn't it?" barely above a whisper, as if he didn't want Pete to hear him all the way in the pantry.

Frank couldn't bring himself to answer truthfully, but he couldn't bring himself to lie either. So, he stared back in damning silence, hoping that'd be enough for Patrick to get the hint.

It was, and his following words shook Frank even more than his initial question. 

"It's okay, I won't tell Pete. He'd be hurt if you got involved with someone in the group that made his high school life a living hell."

"He can't know," Frank finally said, his voice almost cracking in fear. 

"I know. I won't tell him," Patrick assured.

"May I just ask…" Frank said, taking another sip from his beer, "... how did you know?"

Patrick smiled, as if he'd been waiting for Frank to ask him that the whole time. 

"I already told you, Frank." He took a sip from his own beer too. "You're not very hard to read."

Before Frank could argue that answer, however, Pete's voice echoed throughout the living room, making his presence known.

"Hell yeah Pat! You guys have salt and vinegar chips? Why didn't you tell me that earlier?" he said, plopping down on the couch between the other two boys. Patrick gave Frank a knowing smile before turning to face Pete, grabbing a bag of chips from his hands and switching on the television.

Frank only half watched the movies Patrick and Pete chose, instead focusing on drinking and overthinking his short conversation with Patrick. He stopped counting his drinks after he went back to the kitchen to get more beer, realizing he was getting increasingly tipsy and working to stay that way. By the time they were done with their third movie, Patrick had fallen asleep, holding a beer loosely in his hands. Frank had placed his phone on the floor by the couch, and as he looked at it, he began wondering what _@material_boy_ was up to. He again asked himself if he should just reply to the tweets about him, just to say-

"Dude," Pete interrupted his thoughts, "I don't know who you're thinking of texting right now, but don't do it."

"Man… am I really that easy to read?!" Frank whined in frustration.

"Yes," Pete said lightheartedly. "Have you seen How I Met Your Mother?"

"No."

"Well, the main character at one point tells his kids that nothing good ever happens after two A.M. That if you're thinking of doing anything after that time, you should just go to sleep instead."

"What are you trying to tell me, dude?" Frank asked, mind confused in an alcoholic daze.

Pete took Frank's beer away from his hands, placing it on a nearby coffee table, "That it's currently past two A.M. and you should go to bed."

That didn't sound like a horrible idea. Frank was tired from waking up early to go to school, and sleep sounded so tempting right now. He figured he wasn't sober enough to argue with Pete, so when Pete dragged him down to one of the mattresses on the floor, Frank simply let himself be dragged and flopped down next to him. 

"Let's both sleep," Pete said, covering Frank in a warm blanket before doing the same to himself. 

Frank told himself he'd close his eyes only for a moment to appease Pete, but soon enough, he fell into a light yet peaceful sleep.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Frank woke up not too long afterwards to the sound of his phone buzzing, still rather drunk. At first, he tried to ignore it, but two more sets of vibrations pulled him right out of his thoughts. He turned around, careful to not disturb Pete, and unlocked his phone. The flashing screen temporarily hurt his eyes, but he soon lowered it to a more pleasant brightness. He then saw what was the cause of his early morning disturbance.

 _@material_boy_ was tweeting. 

Frank rushed to open Twitter, seeing three new tweets on his feed.

_@material_boy: O, teach me how I should forget to think!_

_@material_boy: From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean._

_@material_boy: These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder._

Frank thought to himself that those words weren't totally unfamiliar. He swore he had seen them before, particularly the ones in the second tweet.

But where had he heard them? 

_"From ancient grudge break to new mutiny..."_ he mouthed to himself, hoping to remember where he knew the words from. As he did this, two new tweets appeared on his feed:

_@material_boy: And yet, I wish but for the thing I have._

_@material_boy: Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow._

The most recent tweet seemed even more familiar to him. For a few minutes, Frank repeated to himself under his breath, cautious to not wake up his friends, "From ancient grudge break to new mutiny… parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow. From ancient grudge break-" 

It was no use. He racked his brain several times, but in his drunken stupor, Frank absolutely could not remember where he had heard those words before. He refreshed his feed, hoping that maybe _@material_boy_ had tweeted something else to help him figure out the origin of the words, but as he did this, all the tweets disappeared. 

Frank scrolled down, making sure he wasn't simply processing it wrong due to the alcohol, but sure enough - all the tweets he had seen in the past few minutes were gone just as quickly as they arrived. 

"Dude… what the hell," a voice next to him said, "I told you to just go to sleep."

"Oh, sorry Pete," Frank whispered. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah, you woke me up with your demonic chanting."

Frank scratched his head, putting his phone down and turning to face Pete, "I'm so sorry man."

The early hours of dawn were setting in, and the weak sunlight was starting to creep into the living room. Frank's eyes were adjusting to the relative darkness, and he could make out the outline of Pete's features. He had never looked at Pete this up close, and doing so made him realize something that made his heart sink in his chest.

Pete looked sad. 

With his barriers down and in complete silence, Pete just looked sad. 

The two of them were close enough to feel each other's breathing, yet they remained frozen - unmoving. For a few long moments, they only examined each other's faces, with a closeness and clarity they had never taken advantage of before. Frank was aware that his face was generally unguarded, transparent to others, but this wasn't Pete's case. Unlike Frank, he knew how to mask his emotions. But, with the mask off, Frank could see all the sleepless nights Pete had. He could see the hollowness Pete felt existed in his heart. And, he could see what Pete needed more than anything else: someone to love.

Frank suddenly felt compelled to ask Pete something that had been in the back of his mind for years, but that he had never gotten the courage to ask until now.

"Hey Pete?" he asked in a whisper, finally breaking the silence between them.

"Yes?" Pete answered just as softly. It was unusual to hear Pete so quiet, mellow. For a few seconds, Frank remained silent, listening for any indication that Patrick was awake. But when he stopped to hear, he heard Patrick snoring softly, still fast asleep.

"Pete?" Frank sighed, watching Pete raise his eyebrows in question. Finally, Frank pushed to ask the one thing that had been secretly bothering him since sophomore year.

"Did you out Brendon?" 

Pete didn't break the eye contact between them. Frank had never seen Pete look so serious and genuine in their three years of friendship.

"No," he replied, eyes wide and honest. 

Frank nodded, content with this answer, and turned back around away from Pete, pulling his blanket up again.

Frank soon fell asleep, feeling somewhat purged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All those flames that burned before him… now he's gotta firefight, gotta cool the bad."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> What do we think guys? 
> 
> Also, it's okay Patrick. I hate being in cars too. 
> 
> I really love that last scene between Frank and Pete. It'll probably go down as one of my faves in the whole fic.
> 
> Next chapter is called Rain On Me!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> -Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	5. Rain On Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's coming down on me - water like misery."

By the time Monday morning rolled around, Frank was feeling far more refreshed than he had felt the previous week. Spending a weekend at Patrick's hanging out with his friends turned out to be just what he needed as the thrill of a new academic year faded away. Now that he was back at school, however, he had a new reason to be excited. 

Yes, Frank was eager to hear from his admirer again. Although being subtweeted was rather interesting, he felt like there was just something special about the handwritten notes; the messy handwriting of his admirer, usually written in glitter gel pen, made Frank feel almost as if he was admiring Alejandro right back. It was endearing in a way a tweet could never be. 

When he walked into school that chilly October morning, hair still wet and leather jacket tightly wrapped around his body, Frank felt like he was unusually motivated considering he had English first period. Sure, it was his worst class of all time and he wasn't even sure if he was passing, but at least he got to look at Gerard for an hour and a half. Yes, he was willing to feel like an idiot for some eye-candy.

Frank opened his locker, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of a bright yellow post-it note, again by the floor just like the first one had been. He reached down to pick it up, hastily opening it before he even bent back up. Just like with all the other notes, he looked around to check if anyone looked suspicious, but yet again saw nothing out of the ordinary. This note read:

_"I saw you followed me on Twitter. If you have notifications on, I should warn you that I often tweet in the middle of the night._

_Great look on Friday too. Shame we don't have many classes together._

_Always,  
\- Alejandro"_

Frank smiled when he read the note. Was this whole ordeal a tiny bit creepy? Maybe. Was Alejandro watching him perhaps a little too closely? Almost certainly. But was Frank enjoying the attention? Absolutely.

Frank was finally getting what he had been longing for; someone wanted him. Someone wanted him for real. It was a special kind of power trip to know he affected another human being like that, and he wanted the magic to last a little longer. The identity of the sender could wait.

He walked into English in a strangely good mood, and as he waltzed in, his teacher eyed him suspiciously. Frank had to understand she had a reason; he had spent the last year or so walking into her class like he would rather sit on a cactus than be there. Even Patrick looked at him like he had gone insane while he took a seat, taking a stupidly confident posture given he didn't know jack shit about English. 

"You're… oddly happy," Patrick said, cocking an eyebrow.

Frank grinned back, "You know, gay means happy."

His friend's face turned into a shocked expression, "I'm surprised you know that."

"What? Of course I know that."

"Frank." Patrick laughed, "Last week you asked me what the word 'authentic' meant."

Frank gasped, raising a finger, pretending to take offense to Patrick's words, "Excuse me? That's a fucking SAT word. You can't expect me to know it."

"We're seniors in high school, Frank. The SAT is very much at our level. Besides, there's no way 'authentic' is an SAT word. It's too basic."

"Yes it is!" Frank said, raising his hand. "I'll prove it." 

Patrick whispered angrily at him, "Frank, put your goddamn arm down, don't involve the tea-"

"Yes, Frank?" his teacher pointed at him, surprised he had raised his hand at all.

"Is 'authentic' an SAT word?" he asked, smiling like an idiot, enjoying how embarrassed Patrick seemed to be by the situation.

"Uh…" She answered, looking confused at Frank's strange question, "I don't think so. I think it's a little simple to be an SAT word."

Patrick gave Frank a look that said _I told you so,_ but remained quiet as the teacher started the class. Frank was about to start drifting off when his teacher said the one thing with the power to snap him right out of his daydreams.

"I will be assigning you all a project."

At the sound of the word _project,_ Frank immediately perked up, listening closely for the first time in weeks. He wasn't used to actually having to _do_ things for English, so the prospect of doing work for real was enough to capture his attention right away. 

"This project will be in pairs, and I've already assigned them. Your task is to write a presentation, in any format you'd like, about an aspect of the play which I have also assigned. Although you will be in pairs, I'll grade you individually. You can get creative with the presentation media if you want, but you won't be penalized if you don't. The content is the most important part. And - listen closely - here's the big catch," the teacher paused, waiting for all eyes in the room to turn to her.

"The student who earns the highest grade for this project will automatically be awarded maximum marks in our next in-class exam. "

That made Frank perk up even more - he doubted anyone in his class could benefit from acing an exam as much as he could at the moment. He was pretty sure he had the lowest marks in his course, or was at least a strong contender for the title. There was no way he'd ace the exam on his own, even if he spent most of his waking hours studying Sparknotes like a maniac. Frank needed that award badly, but had very little faith in his ability to earn it. 

"Your deadline will be exactly three weeks from now. That is plenty of time, so I am expecting high quality work from all of you. Now, listen while I list out the pairs and your given presentation topics..." Frank listened closely, waiting for his name to be called. Eventually, it came, and he thought the universe must've been pranking him at the mention of his pair and the presentation topic.

"Frank and Gerard, you two will be writing about Beckett's use of hats."

Hats?! What possible significance could a _hat_ have? Frank's day seemed to be taking a turn for the worst. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gerard look back at him, but refused to make eye contact. 

So maybe Frank was a little cranky about Gerard giving him the cold shoulder over the past few weeks. Clearly, Frank's consistent rivalry with Ray, Hayley, and Brendon showed that he was in no way above petty drama, and Gerard wasn't going to suddenly become an exception. Frank was the kind of person who held grudges, and he knew this about himself. He wasn't proud of it, but hey - he couldn't help it sometimes.

Frank was dragged out of his thoughts again when he heard shuffling around the class, and noticed students were moving seats in order to sit with their partners. 

Excellent. Simply fantastic, he thought. 

He noticed Gerard approaching him, and instantly moved his eyes down to stare at his copy of _Waiting For Godot._ The book wasn't even open, and Frank found himself just staring at the cover, but he hoped that'd be enough to deter most conversation from Gerard.

"Hi Frank," he said, sitting down on the desk next to Frank's.

Okay. So maybe the plan wasn't that effective. 

Frank didn't reply, and continued staring at the book cover.

"Frank. You're staring at the cover of your book," Gerard said matter-of-factly.

Frank mumbled in response, "It's an interesting cover."

It wasn't.

"It really isn't."

Frank sighed. Why was everyone always right except for him? For someone who was brilliant at math, Frank sure made a fool of himself regularly.

"Look, Frank." He finally turned to face Gerard, who looked tired and vaguely annoyed, "Can we just put all the fights aside to get this project done? I'm sure both of us would like to get a good grade."

 _Fucking persuasive motherfucker,_ Frank remarked to himself, frustrated that he had lost this argument before it even begun. "Fine," he said, a slightly childish tone to his voice.

"Gerard? Frank? Can the two of you come over for a moment?" Their teacher called from her desk, motioning for them to approach. 

The two boys got up, briefly exchanging confused looks before doing as their teacher asked and walking up to her. 

"Now, boys, do you know why I paired the two of you together?"

Both of them shook their heads. She continued, turning to face Frank first.

"Frank, I am concerned with your progress in this class. You seem to struggle with the content, and I am hoping that Gerard will act as a mentor of sorts to you. If you continue on the path that you're on, there's a chance you might not be able to pass your AP exam when the time comes. I've spoken to your other subject teachers and I know you're a sharp learner, but I believe you need more time than just what we have in class for this subject. So, Gerard," she then turned to face him, "I'm hoping you'll help him out. But don't just do the work for him - what determines his success in this course, is, ultimately, the AP exam, which you won't be able to take for him in the end. If you guys could schedule time outside of class to work together, I believe that would be perfect for Frank's progress. Can I trust you with this task?"

Gerard nodded yes, and Frank was surprised to see a serious look of integrity on his face as he did so.

"I've seen the way you can eloquently express your ideas, Gerard. Hence why I think you can help Frank perhaps better than any other student. You can express yourself more clearly than many people I went to college with. Don't let me down, alright?" she said, waiting for Gerard to agree before telling them to go back to their seats. 

When they sat down again, Frank couldn't help but stare at Gerard, inwardly cursing at him. Why did he have to be perfect to the point of it being outrageous? What an insufferable bastard. Frank analyzed his look for the day: Gerard wore a completely pink flower crown, which he had matched with a baby pink oversized sweater and a sheer pink lip gloss that reminded Frank of the day they met. Upon closer inspection, Frank noticed that his cheeks and the tip of his pixie nose once again had the same glitter they had on the first day of class.

Thinking back to that day, Frank remembered how Gerard had told him he sucked at math, immediately feeling a little better about himself for outsmarting Gerard in at least one thing. Maybe Frank couldn't see all the hidden meanings in a stupid play, but at least he knew all his times tables. 

"So, Frank," Gerard started, keeping an oddly formal demeanor, "do you have any idea what the use of hats in the play could mean?"

"Is there a deep meaning to that?" 

Gerard's eyes widened in exasperation, "Of course there is! Authors make choices, Fra-" he then stopped himself, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Have you read Harry Potter?"

"Yeah." It was true; Frank had powered through all seven books in seventh grade.

"So, although things in real life tend to be decided upon the various whims of the universe, that's not how things work in literature. Can you tell why?" As soon as they started talking about literature, it was like the life had been forced back into Gerard's body. His eyebrows rested higher on his face, and a permanent wrinkle below his eyes made it look like he was smiling even when his mouth was busy talking. 

Frank shrugged, unsure of his answer, "Because the author is the one who builds the universe?"

This seemed like a good answer though, because Gerard smiled at him before continuing, "Yes! Because the author is the one who builds the universe, they get to make virtually all the decisions regarding said universe. So even though people's names in real life don't tend to reflect anything about their character since they're named before their personalities can develop, writers can use character names in books as a means of cluing the reader into what the character is like, or even to reveal parts of the plot."

Frank nodded, feeling surprised that he was understanding everything so far. "Right, and?"

"Take Severus Snape, for example. What does his name sound like? Just throw around some words that come to mind."

"Uh… severe..? Snake..?"

"Yes!" Gerard smiled again, sitting further upright in his seat. "And what's his character like? Serious, strict! The snake part is also a good point, because both his first and last names start with a 'sss' sound. And what house does Professor Snape run?"

Frank felt like a lightbulb had been lit above his head. "Slytherin! The snake house!"

"Right, see how writers use the personal traits of their characters for world building? We need to do the same with _Waiting For Godot_ but use the hats instead of names." Quickly, Frank's excitement over finally understanding a literary reference died down, given how utterly lost he felt regarding the play they were currently studying.

"I guess you've kinda lost me there..." Frank admitted, scratching his head and looking down at his desk.

"It's alright. We have three weeks to work it out. I think it would be helpful if you looked over the text again, annotating the parts where hats are involved."

"How can I annotate it when I don't have anything to add?" Frank sighed, sounding defeated.

"Then just write down what you observe. Any point that you think is relevant, even if it feels obvious. Sometimes it takes a while to connect the dots. I often take days or even weeks to realize something about a text. Heck, sometimes I only realize an overarching theme in a text _months_ after I read it. It's good to take a break, go for a shower, walk, or even take a nap when you're processing a piece of literature. A good piece of literature has enough content for you to pick it apart for years; that's why some books stay popular and others die out. A good piece of fiction makes you understand reality a little better." 

Hearing Gerard ramble about something he was so passionate about was admittedly charming to Frank, even though he was still quite jealous about how skilled Gerard was with language compared to him. There was just something about the spark that graced his emerald eyes, enhanced by the gentleness of his look, that made Gerard look almost like an angel fallen to earth. It made Frank's crankiness about how Gerard had acted over the past few weeks dissipate into thin air, like it had never been there in the first place.

Fuck. Although Frank had made every effort imaginable to not fall under his spell, he was still very much enamored by Gerard Way.

"You know, that's kinda like math," he said, trying to add something of substance to the conversation. "Sometimes my calc teacher gives me a problem and I need to go away and think about it for a few days before I can solve it."

Gerard nodded in understanding, "Looking at something with fresh eyes does help. Now if you don't mind, I'm gonna skim through my copy of the play and pick out all the scenes regarding hats. I suggest you do the same."

"Right."

"Frank?" Gerard said while biting his lip, as if he was scared of what he was about to ask.

"Hm?"

"Would you..." he looked down in a way Frank found simply adorable, "would you want to come over to my place after class? You know, so we could work on the project?"

 _Do I want to come over? Do I want to come over to a hot guy's house? What kinda fucking question is that?_ He thought to himself, trying to not appear too excited when he answered, "Sure," shrugging in a way he hoped would make him seem calm and collected. 

Gerard didn't seem to notice his nervousness, and instead stuck his palm out in Frank's direction. 

"Gimme your phone."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "... why?"

"So I can put my address on it," Gerard said candidly.

"Why don't you just write it on a piece of paper? You're holding a pencil."

Gerard pursed his lips. "I don't trust you to keep a piece of paper until the end of the day."

Frank scoffed, "You don't trust _me_ to keep a piece of paper till the end of the day?! Your locker _literally_ looks like a garbage dump!"

"I never said I trusted myself to keep it either." Gerard raised a finger, "Also, I don't _lose_ things, I just temporarily misplace them."

Frank wondered how on earth Gerard was capable of going from utterly adorable to incredibly annoying in such a short timespan. "Misplacing something is just another way of saying you lost it."

"Oh! Speaking of: English vocabulary time, what do we call a word that has a similar meaning to another word in the same language?"

"A redundancy," Frank bickered.

"I'm surprised you know what a redundancy is, but no. The correct answer is a synonym."

Frank rolled his eyes and looked across the room at Patrick, who was watching the two boys bicker like it was fine entertainment. Patrick covered his mouth with his hands like he was struggling to hold back a laugh, but cleared his throat and looked back down at his work when Frank glared at him threateningly. 

"Gerard, just..." he removed his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and handing it over to Gerard, "put your address into my phone and shove your synonyms up your ass."

"Don't you mean, 'stick your synonyms up your butt?'" Gerard said while typing on Frank's phone, cheekily laughing to himself like a toddler who just told a fart joke. 

"What?" Frank asked, confused.

"Oh," Gerard handed his phone back. "Nevermind, I think that joke was a little advanced for now."

 _There was a joke in there?_ Frank asked himself, too scared to ask Gerard to explain the joke, instead leaving it behind.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"You know, I'm surprised by how much chemistry you and Gerard actually have," Patrick told Frank as they left English.

"Chemistry? We spent most of the class bickering."

Patrick wrapped his arm around Frank's shoulders. "That's chemistry, my friend! I also saw you guys having a real conversation before you began arguing."

"So?" Frank shrugged. "It lasted about two minutes before we did start arguing."

"The thing is that you guys can go from deep conversations to snappy arguments in a flash, without going cold! Most people just go from hot to cold. You guys can change it around while staying hot, you know what I mean?"

"Not really..?" Frank shook his head, perplexed. "I've always been bad at metaphors."

"The gist of it is that you guys have chemistry. You two just need to accept it."

"Yeah," Frank scorned, "tell _him_ that."

"Oh, he knows. He might not act like it, but he does."

"How do you know that?"

Patrick shrugged, "Just do."

Patrick had always been good at reading people. Although Frank didn't often understand people's thoughts and motivations, and Pete was just downright oblivious half the time, Patrick had the talent of reading people's emotions like he saw the world through therapist glasses. His amiable presence and slightly awkward disposition made him feel incredibly trustworthy.

"If he sees it, why isn't he doing anything about it?" Frank asked. 

Patrick smiled at him. "Maybe he is, and you just don't see it yet."

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Linda hadn't exactly been pleased when Frank told her he was going over to Gerard's. Telling his mom he was going to visit the very guy he had previously admitted being into wasn't the most convincing thing in the universe. He had already pushed his luck over the weekend with the sleepover, and Frank left his house on Monday afternoon accepting the fact he was probably getting an ass whooping when he got back home. 

There was a note on his locker after his last class of the day, and Frank was starting to get excited everytime he approached his locker. Was Alejandro conditioning him into feeling giddy at the simple action of opening a school locker? Frank thought there was definitely something Pavlovian about Alejandro's relative consistency in the note's locations and how he felt upon receiving them.

Today's note read: 

_"I see you took my advice on the wet hair and leather jacket._

_Consider picking up morning showers. I enjoy the view, but perhaps not fully in the way I'd like…_

_Kisses,  
\- Alejandro"_

Besides being suggestive as fuck, Frank thought the note was oddly sweet. Not in a platonic way, but in a more… _boyfriend-y_ way. 

Frank quickly decided it was his favorite note thus far. 

He placed it inside his hardcover copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes before leaving his house to go over to Gerard's, making sure it wouldn't get wrinkled like the other notes had gotten in his jacket pockets. When he got to Gerard's, he spent a few seconds sitting in the driver's seat, observing how little Gerard's house looked like him. 

The façade was rather drab, simple white with absolutely no decorations on the porch. _Damn, not even a bench?_ Frank asked himself, wondering how such a boring dwelling could house such an intriguing human. He supposed he could include Mikey in that statement too, as he was definitely not as dull as his house was either.

Frank raised his fist to knock on the door, but before it could make contact with the surface, the door swung open. Frank looked up to face Mikey, who greeted him in strangely normal clothes.

"Frank, hello!" Mikey said, bringing Frank into a short hug. "Gerard is in his room. He's listening to music so he probably didn't hear you arriving; I heard your car on the gravel."

"Right." Frank stepped away from the hug. "Should I just go upstairs?" 

"Oh no, his room is down in the basement. Just go inside."

Frank nodded, doing as Mikey told him and making his way down some stairs. He thought it was a little weird that Gerard's room was in the basement, but decided to keep an open mind while he heard upbeat pop music becoming louder and louder as he approached the basement door. He knocked, but there was no reply. Frank knocked again, but like his first attempt, it was futile. He figured he'd just make his way inside, and hoped Gerard wasn't doing anything too compromising as he opened the door.

The sight that greeted Frank when he walked into Gerard's room was like something out of a rom-com Patrick would probably watch. Gerard was prancing around, dancing to the music, happy and carefree. He spotted Frank right away, but seemed completely unbothered by his presence and continued dancing like he wasn't there. Frank laughed at Gerard - so young and full of life. 

Gerard laughed back, motioning towards Frank, bidding him to come closer. Frank crossed his arms, retreating into the wall, but it was useless; Gerard walked towards him and grabbed his arm, dragging him to the center of the room like the dancefloor on a discotheque. Frank stood awkwardly, letting Gerard move his arms around like a rag doll to the beat of the song. 

Frank then realized he had heard the song before - it was the song his mother had played in the kitchen the day they baked together. 

"What song is this?" he asked, yelling over the music. "My mom plays it all the time."

Gerard gasped at Frank, looking almost offended, _"You don't know this song?! Or even this artist?!"_

"Should I?"

"This is Madonna! Who the hell doesn't like Madonna?!" 

Frank laughed nervously, hoping Gerard would understand that he didn't really know much about Madonna besides the fact a lot of gays loved her. 

Gerard then walked over to his phone which lay on his desk, pausing the music before saying, "Alright, we'll do some English work first and then I'll catch you up in pop culture. I can't tell what task is more arduous at this point."

Frank was sure that must've been some sort of insult, except he wasn't sure what the word 'arduous' meant, so he just hummed noncommittally and hoped it was an appropriate response. 

"So," Gerard started, sitting down on his desk chair and picking up his copy of _Waiting For Godot,_ "Lucky for you, I was in study hall today and I gave myself the liberty of picking out all the scenes involving hats."

"Oh, did you notice anything?" Frank replied, sitting down on Gerard's bed since Gerard didn't have a second desk chair. He placed his backpack on the bed next to him, hoping it wasn't the wrong move. It wasn't, since Gerard barely even seemed to notice the action, focusing on the topic of conversation like his life depended on it.

"Yes, but I wanna see if you'll notice what I did on your own if I gave you the necessary points. Since we're being graded individually, I think it's best if we keep our notes separate, even if we bounce off of each other while we're thinking. You need to synthesize your own ideas in the exam after all," Gerard explained, and Frank figured that was logical enough.

"Alright. Let's give it a shot. I literally have nothing to lose."

Gerard giggled, opening his book to a page marked by a post-it note before taking on an almost professor-like demeanor. "Most of the characters we're introduced to wear hats. Let's start with Vladimir and Estragon-"

"Right, Tweedledee and Tweedledum."

Gerard's face contorted in shock, "You've read Lewis Carroll?"

"Read what now?"

"Nevermind," Gerard shook his head. "As I was saying… Vladimir and Estragon, they both wear hats, but they have different attitudes towards their hats. Vladimir is more fixated on it than Estragon is. Estragon instead focuses on his boots."

Frank shrugged. To him this all meant absolutely nothing. "So?"

"So, what sets these two characters apart, personality wise?"

"Uh.." Frank thought. "I guess Estragon isn't as much of a thinker? He's more focused on the real world."

"Right!" Gerard was starting to sound excited, which made Frank feel like he was close to deducing what Gerard had in mind, "What's an expression to describe someone who's realistic? If someone doesn't have their head up in the clouds, they're..?"

Frank thought as hard as he could for a few seconds, searching his brain for an expression with the meaning Gerard described.

"Down to earth?" he eventually guessed, not very confident in his answer.

"Yes, Frank!" Gerard seemed genuinely thrilled about Frank being correct. "So, Vladimir's fixation on his hat shows he directs his focus towards his head, which is both where we wear hats and where we think, is it not? Meanwhile, Estragon's focus _away_ from his hat - and subsequently his head - and instead towards where he is connected with the earth, the ground, shows he is quite literally more grounded."

Yeah. Frank would've never drawn that conclusion on his own. Regardless, he opened his notebook and wrote down everything he could capture from what Gerard told him, hogging the words as if they were currency. 

"Hey Gerard?" Said boy hummed in response, waiting for Frank's inquiry. "If we're talking about hats, why are we also discussing the lack of focus on them in certain parts of the play? Isn't that the exact opposite of our presentation topic?"

"I'm glad you asked," Gerard replied, sounding legitimately glad that Frank had asked. "When looking at a certain aspect of a text, the parts where the focus is driven away from said aspect are just as important as when it's in the spotlight. What you don't see is just as significant as what you do see."

"What I don't see is just as significant as what I do see... what I don't see is just as significant as what I do see... what I don't..." Frank repeated to himself over and over like a mantra, drawing a few weird looks from Gerard. Why did that sentence suddenly feel relevant? 

"Is there anything else?" he asked, hoping to get more material out of Gerard.

"Yes, but I'm hoping you'll ruminate on the information I gave you for a bit. How can I help you make your own conclusions if I don't give you the time to do so?"

Why did Gerard always have to go ahead and say eloquent shit like that? "Urgh, stop being you. Smart ass prick," Frank said, adding a tone of playfulness to his voice.

Gerard seemed to think that was funny, because he laughed and responded, "I'm afraid I can't help it. Just like I wish you'd donate some of your mathematical talent over to me since I'm in dire need."

 _Math._ That was it! Gerard had given him the answer!

That was why Frank thought Gerard's line about hidden features was important; he had been overlooking one all along. 

He knew how to solve the math problem that'd been on his mind since AP Calc on Friday morning. It clicked inside of his brain all at once like the final piece on a jigsaw puzzle.

"Oh my God, Gerard! You're a genius!" Frank leapt out of Gerard's bed, grabbing a sheet of paper from inside his bag and taking a random pen from Gerard's pencil holder. Gerard tried taking the pen away from him but Frank quickly batted his hand away. 

"Ow! What the fuck? Also, thanks... I guess? I don't know what I said to get you this agitated."

Frank ignored him as he slammed the paper onto Gerard's desk, leaning over and scribbling a mess of numbers and symbols onto it in a mathematical frenzy. He had been looking at the problem all wrong - all he needed to do was rewrite the expression, and the answer popped out at him like the aggressive neon signs he hated seeing in New York City.

Frank moved faster and faster as his hand tried catching up with his brain, since it always seemed to be two steps ahead of his body whenever he did math. His handwriting came out as barely legible scratches on the paper, but Frank didn't mind, because he knew. He knew what he meant. When he finally finished writing, he lifted up the sheet of paper gloriously into the air, like that scene from Lion King. 

"I solved it!" Frank jumped into the air, excited and careless.

"Solved what..?" Gerard asked, and it was then that it occurred to Frank that Gerard was still very much there, watching his every move inquisitively. 

When he turned to face Gerard, Frank just couldn't help himself. Amidst the joy and adrenaline of finally having solved his goddamn problem, Frank put down the paper and grabbed Gerard's face firmly with both his hands, planting a kiss on his cheek - thinking inconsequentially. Gerard clearly hadn't expected this, because for a few moments he froze, staring back at Frank with wide eyes. However, only a few moments later, his expression hardened, instead taking the same challenging look Frank had seen the day he slammed Gerard onto his locker. For long seconds, the two boys just eyed each other, Gerard's face still held tightly within Frank's hands, faces only a few inches apart. The air was so thick and dense with the tension that Frank struggled to draw a breath, feeling like he was about to suffocate at any moment. 

It was then that Frank understood what Patrick had told him earlier; the chemistry between them was palpable, and it was searing hot. When Frank broke their gaze, looking down at Gerard's chest, he noticed his breathing was just as labored as Frank felt his own must've been. This realization made his insides boil in a scorching inferno, and the sudden understanding that Gerard enjoyed making him lose control quickly made the sensation overwhelming; Frank let go of Gerard's face before the touch set his skin ablaze. 

He cleared his throat, "We should work on the project."

Gerard looked serious, and didn't break the raging eye contact between them still. "Yeah," he said, eyeing Frank like he knew exactly what went on inside his mind. 

That afternoon, Frank barely paid attention to the literary remarks Gerard made or his mom's incessant yelling when he got home. Instead, his every thought was filled with Gerard's green eyes, glaring back at him like sharpened emeralds in defiance. It was the second time Gerard had made Frank lose control, and Frank saw how much the boy enjoyed getting under his skin. 

It then occurred to Frank, that Gerard's powerful stare fixed onto his mind for a reason: it answered the question Frank had asked himself the week the two of them met. 

He knew then: Gerard wasn't water. He was ethanol, alcohol of the most sterilizing and flammable kind. 

And Frank had set both of them aflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Livin' in a world where no one's innocent. Oh, but at least we try."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> The sexual tension, ah! 
> 
> Fun fact: whenever I need to write a Gerard scene, I listen to Christina Aguilera or Madonna to get into his diva-like headspace. If you're not writing Gerard Way as a sassy bastard, are you even writing Gerard Way?
> 
> I wrote this chapter listening to Lady Marmalade. I can't write listening to MCR because their music is too goddamn distracting!!!
> 
> Next chapter is called Judas (and I think you guys might like it, wink wink)!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> -Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	6. Judas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll bring him down, bring him down, down!"

"Are you fucking my brother?" 

Frank spat his coffee back into his mug, gaping at Mikey in shock. "What?!"

"I asked, are you fucking my brother?" Mikey repeated nonchalantly. 

Frank looked back at Patrick and Pete in desperation, hoping they'd help him out, but they appeared to be equally as lost as he was. 

"Oh, wait, I'm not mad!" Mikey raised his hands defensively. "By all means, fuck my brother. I'm just curious because it would be some serious tea."

"Uh..." Frank said, glancing back at Patrick and Pete again before answering Mikey. "No, I'm not fucking your brother."

Mikey looked shocked at this answer, as if he had approached Frank that morning at school fully expecting that Frank had indeed fucked Gerard. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah… why?"

"Oh..." Mikey contemplated. "Then you should probably get on that..? His mood has been terrible lately. I mean, just a solid zero out of ten. And when he gets cranky, I'm the one who has to deal with it at home. So like… maybe consider fucking my brother? I think getting laid would be good for him. If you want to, of course."

"I guess I'll keep that in-" Before Frank could reply to Mikey, Pete roughly pushed him aside, extending his hand out to Mikey.

"Hey," Pete said, staring at Mikey a little too intensely. 

Mikey took his hand, shaking it firmly, unbothered. "Hey! Mikey Way. Junior."

"Pete. Wentz." 

Patrick and Frank exchanged looks, clearly embarrassed by how Pete was acting. 

"We're seniors," Patrick chimed in, trying to help him out.

"Yeah, I know." Mikey explained, "My brother's a senior and he's working with Frank on an English project. That's how we know each other." 

"Oh," Pete said, watching Mikey and smiling like a complete fool. 

Patrick and Frank quickly realized what was going on and immediately looked away from each other to avoid bursting into laughter; Pete was too awkward for his own good. However, looking at the two boys so up close, Frank realized he had been totally right the first time he saw Mikey; he and Pete looked like part of a matching set. It was almost educational - Frank didn't know such random looking people even _could_ match.

"Mikey, aren't you scared of your brother seeing you talking to us? Our groups' rivalry is pretty serious..." Frank suggested, looking around at the busy hallway the four of them stood in.

"Frank, I don't give a fuck about your stupid fight. I'll judge you when I know you," Mikey replied without missing a beat. "Besides, my brother doesn't own me. He can have his own friends, but I am my own person and I talk to whoever the fuck I want."

Patrick, Pete, and Frank were awed by this answer. Mikey had just told them, bold as brass, that he didn't give a fuck about what was essentially a social war at their school. Many people had villainized Pete after word got out that he had allegedly outed Brendon, and his social life suffered the most out of anyone in his group. Most of the practical jokes played by Ray, Brendon, or Hayley targeted Pete directly, and any effects on Patrick or Frank were usually just collateral damage. So, it can be said that when Pete found someone who was willing to look past the rumors and get to know him directly, he was absolutely smitten.

"Do you wanna have lunch with us?" he blurted out at Mikey in an act that shocked Patrick and Frank even more.

Mikey smiled, nodding like he was equally as intrigued by Pete as Pete was by him, "Of course." 

Frank suddenly saw what Patrick must've seen between him and Gerard, albeit a more innocent version of it. He saw the instant connection between Pete and Mikey; if he squinted, he could almost see the invisible strings drawing them together. The chemistry was simply undeniable. 

"I need to get going for now," Mikey waved in all of their directions, but never took his eyes off of Pete, "I'll see you all at lunch then." Pete waved back without saying anything, watching Mikey walk away until he was well out of sight. 

"Pete, what the fuck was that?" Patrick asked when Mikey was out of earshot. Patrick must've been particularly stunned, because he hardly ever swore.

Pete shrugged, "I met Mikey. And Mikey met me."

Frank laughed. "That was a little more than just a simple meeting and we all saw it, Pete."

"Whatever," Pete rolled his eyes, blushing slightly. "Don't you have class to get to?"

Patrick and Frank smiled at each other, knowing they would milk this crush for teasing material until the end of time. "Alright..." Patrick smirked, adjusting his backpack and walking away.

"Frank?" Pete hummed.

"Yeah?"

"Who's Mikey's brother?" he asked earnestly.

Fuck. Frank couldn't just lie; Pete would certainly find out from Mikey himself eventually. He had to make it sound like he didn't care about Gerard.

"Uh..." Frank started, doing his best to sound like he couldn't care less, "It's Gerard. Do you know him?" 

Pete frowned, "The new guy in Brendon's gang?"

 _Fuck._ Frank took a deep breath, suddenly wishing he was drunk for this conversation. "Yeah, that's the one." 

"Why are you doing a project with him?" Pete investigated further, sounding a little upset.

"It wasn't my choice." Frank answered defensively, "Our teacher paired us. Trust me, I wouldn't have chosen to work with him if I had the option at the time." It was _technically_ true. Frank would not have chosen Gerard as his partner at the time they were assigned, considering he was still salty at Gerard about being given the cold shoulder. At the moment though, he wouldn't trade partners for the world, but he decided to discreetly omit that fact from the conversation.

"Oh... _are_ you fucking him?"

"No." This part was technically true as well. Frank had not fucked Gerard. Frank was absolutely positive with every fiber of his being that he _wanted_ to, but he had not fucked Gerard for the time being. Of course, he conveniently left that detail out of the conversation as well. 

"Alright… I'll get going then," Pete said, walking off before Frank could bid him goodbye.

When Pete left, Frank let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He most definitely could not have a conversation like that again without going into cardiac arrest. He didn't know why he was so nervous - in terms of actions, Gerard and Frank had not done anything Frank would have bothered to tell his friends about if it regarded another boy. Why did he feel so anxious this time around? 

Maybe, Frank thought to himself, it was because he knew exactly where he and Gerard were headed. He stared down at his coffee, now cold.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

While Frank was in study hall, he had been completely absorbed into his physics homework when his phone buzzed. In fact, he wouldn't have noticed it at all had his phone been on his desk rather than his pocket, considering the physical sensation of having his phone buzz against his leg was what woke him from his focused state. Frank put down his pen, expecting to see a text from Patrick or perhaps his mother when instead, he came across a Twitter notification.

Alejandro had just tweeted. 

_Really?_ Frank asked himself, _during class hours?_ A bold move, in his opinion. Although their school wasn't super strict on cell phones, students did often have their phones confiscated if they were found to be using it during class.

Frank scanned his surroundings, making sure the coast was clear before cautiously opening Twitter and checking his feed. Sure enough, there was a brand new tweet from his elusive admirer.

_@material_boy: I'm just a holy fool, oh baby it's so cruel, but I'm still in love with Judas, baby..._

Now what on earth did _that_ mean? Did that count as blasphemy? Something definitely wasn't right about that tweet to Frank. Was it again some sort of reference he couldn't seem to understand? That seemed like the only logical explanation because no sane person - although it could be argued Alejandro didn't really have his head firmly screwed onto his neck - would just admit to being in love with the great biblical betrayer. Additionally, the repetition of the word 'baby' made it seem like maybe the verse could've belonged in a song but it wasn't anything Frank recognized regardless of source.

He decided to put his phone down before a teacher could come by and confiscate it, diving right back into his physics homework until the end of the period. Frank quickly forgot about the tweet too, letting the day pass him by until lunch time.

At lunch, he was the first one to make it to the cafeteria, and sat at the usual table while he waited for his friends. He spotted Gerard a few tables away, sat across Ray but focusing on a sketchbook in front of him. Frank saw Gerard turn a page on his sketchbook, flipping it around before looking up straight at Frank. Frank continued looking back, unafraid. Quickly, Gerard narrowed his eyes, still watching him, holding his stare in dead concentration before looking back down and scribbling away at his sketchbook. 

Frank offhandedly made a mental remark about that being a bit weird, but right as he began making eye contact with Gerard again, his friends sat down, demanding his attention.

"Fred Lero, this is Mikey Way," Pete said as he took a seat, gesturing towards Mikey.

"Yeah, I know. I was the one who introduced the two of you," Frank stated, a little bewildered at Pete's odd re-introduction. "Also, how come he gets to be Mikey Way while I have to be Fred Lero?"

"Because your name is stupid, Fred. His name sounds like 'Milky Way' and everyone knows space is totally cool. Your name doesn't sound like anything cool, so I give you a nickname that highlights how utterly uncool it is," Pete replied like he was stating the obvious, although hardly anyone would come up with something like that except for him. "Are you guys gonna get food?" he then asked as he got back up, changing subjects so fast that Frank almost felt himself get whiplash.

"Uh, no… I checked before I sat down and there's nothing vegetarian today."

"I'll take some food," Patrick replied, getting up and joining Pete.

"I'm not hungry, thanks," said Mikey, smiling politely at Patrick and Pete before they walked over to the cafeteria line. When he was positive the other two boys were gone, he turned to Frank and said with a shit-eating grin spread across his face, "You know, it would just be so convenient if someone were to tell you that our basement is soundproofed."

_"What? Your basement is soundproofed?"_

" _Oh no,_ Frank! How'd you find that out?" Mikey whined sarcastically, "Now you can use that information to your advantage!"

"Wait..." Frank thought out, remembering how he had heard music coming from Gerard's room when he approached his door, "If it's soundproof, how come I heard music coming from the basement when I went down the stairs?"

"Gerard likes to play his gay ass music at an ungodly volume. It's like he tries to fight the soundproofing." By his tone, Frank could guess that Mikey had listened to a lot of Britney Spears against his will. "Unless you go crazy loud, no one upstairs can hear what's going on in the basement."

"Do I want to know _why_ your basement is soundproofed?" Frank inquired, a little scared of the answer.

Mikey explained, "Our dad used it as a studio before we moved in with him. He used to live alone when Gerard and I were back in France, but now that we're in Jersey and he only had one guest room, we had to turn the studio into a basement bedroom. Gerard got the short end of the stick since he's going off to college first."

"Alright, that's a lot less suspicious than anything else I had in mind," Frank admitted. He then hesitantly changed topics slightly, "Mikey..." Frank waited for said boy to hum before asking, "Do you mind if I ask why you and Gerard moved to Jersey? I mean, who'd downgrade from France to Jersey willingly?"

Mikey lost the smile on his face right away. "I think that's the kind of thing you need to ask Gerard rather than me."

"Oh..." 

"But I will tell you this," Mikey raised a finger, "there's a reason why Gerard took Brendon's side in this whole ordeal. It's more personal to him than you think; he'll struggle to let go of the issue. He'll need more time."

"Right..." Frank deliberated Mikey's words for a few seconds, but before he could interrogate Mikey further, Patrick and Pete returned with their trays. Mikey immediately redirected his attention to Pete, and Frank quickly got the feeling that trying to ask him anything while Pete was around would be useless. 

"Hi," Mikey said, leaning his head on his hands, watching Pete.

Pete grinned, immediately ditching his food and staring back at Mikey in wonder. "Hey." 

The two boys just looked at each other, and at one point Frank was sure they were staring for way too long. When he looked at Patrick, they exchanged confused looks, and Patrick silently mouthed _"What the fuck?"_ while side-eyeing the other two boys. Frank shrugged, not understanding the situation any more than Patrick did. 

Frank wished things were as simple with Gerard as they seemed to be between Mikey and Pete.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"So, Gerard..." Hayley started when the two of them were left alone at their table, "how much longer will it take for you to do something about Frank?"

He rolled his eyes, still sketching." What could I even do? It's not like something serious can happen between us. We're basically Romeo and Juliet at this point."

"You don't have to _marry_ him, dude. You can just sit on him."

Gerard gasped, _"Hayley!"_

"What?" she laughed. "Did I lie? Besides, if you let this tension build up for much longer, I'm pretty sure you'll end up murdering each other by the end of the semester. If you break it now you'll probably just end up having sex instead."

"I don't wanna have sex with him," Gerard scoffed. "He's short and ugly." 

Hayley smirked, "Gerard, you spend almost every lunch time leering at him like you wanna suck his dick, so don't act like you care about him being short. You might be taller than him as you are, but on your knees you certainly aren't. And if you think he's ugly, why are you drawing him right now?" she asked teasingly.

Gerard put down his pencil and closed his sketchbook. "Hayley, you are literally the most impossible person to argue with. You're too clever."

"This is just called _being a woman,_ Gee." She took a bite out of her cereal bar. "Think about it, how many arguments have you won against women?"

When he thought about it, Gerard realized he couldn't recall a single time he ever won an argument against a woman. "Good point, although I tend to agree with women from the beginning so we hardly ever argue anyways."

"So you agree, you wanna fuck Frank?"

Gerard stared at Hayley stoically. "Why are you asking if you already know the answer?"

She smiled. "Because I like being told I'm right."

Gerard sighed, "Don't we all?"

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

As Frank made his way to the Way residence that afternoon, he couldn't help but think of what Mikey had told him earlier in the day. He wanted to believe he was surprised, but he wasn't at all. Somewhere in his subconscious, Frank knew the tension between them just needed a little push before it inevitably burst. What Frank did not know, however, was what would happen once it did burst. They would either fight or fuck, and to Frank, both options seemed equally likely at this point. 

When he walked into Gerard's basement bedroom, he found him sitting at the vanity, dabbing some glitter onto the tip of his nose. Frank also heard some music coming from the speakers by Gerard's dresser, but it was a lot quieter than it had been the first time he visited. 

"Hi, Frank," Gerard said, not taking his eyes off his own reflection. 

"Hey," Frank replied, taking a seat at Gerard's desk. "What song is this?"

Gerard glanced at Frank through the mirror, grinning as he opened a tube of lipgloss. "Lady Marmalade by Christina Aguilera, Mya, Pink, and Lil' Kim. Do you like?"

Frank stopped to listen for a few seconds before giving his verdict, "It's… pretty girly." 

"Yeah, Frank. I don't know if you _noticed,"_ Gerard waved the wand of his lipgloss for emphasis, "but _I am_ pretty girly." He then redirected his gaze back to his reflection, locking his eyes on his own lips as he applied the gloss. Frank watched Gerard's reflection too, oddly mesmerized by the pink shine that made Gerard's entire complexion look even more breathtaking than it already was. When he finished applying the gloss, Gerard looked back at Frank through the mirror, smiling coyly at the boy behind him; he felt good about the effect he clearly had on Frank. 

Gerard was equal parts angelic and sinful. 

"So," he said, enjoying the hold he had on Frank then, who was wholeheartedly captivated by him in that moment, "I was thinking…"

"About?" Frank asked, still hypnotized by Gerard's reflection, not looking away from it for even a split second.

"The play." 

Frank frowned, puzzled. "Play?"

"You know, _Waiting For Godot?_ The play we're writing a project about?"

"Oh! Right." Frank felt like a little bit of an idiot, but tried to play it cool regardless, "What were you thinking?"

Gerard picked up a hairbrush. "I was thinking about how Pozzo and Lucky use hats. What's the relationship between the two characters?" he asked, styling his hair in the mirror.

Frank felt his mouth go dry at the sight, but forced himself to answer Gerard's question. "Master and servant," he choked out. 

"Mhm, Pozzo being the master and Lucky being the servant. Now why is Lucky given that name if he is bound to servitude? Wouldn't anyone consider that an extremely unlucky situation?" 

"Of course," Frank agreed.

"There are two issues there, however. One, what is the main problem Vladimir and Estragon face throughout the play?" 

"Uh..." Frank thought about it for some time, "I guess that they have nothing to do while they wait?" 

"Yes. So, wouldn't you say Lucky is indeed lucky because he's the only one in the play who has something to do? He's the only character in the play with a purpose, even if it's a bad one. The other thing I wanted to bring up is that Pozzo is, in some ways, completely dependent on Lucky. He can't survive without his servant. Wouldn't that make Lucky the most powerful one in the relationship, then? If he can exist separately from Pozzo but Pozzo cannot exist without him?"

"Wait, how is all of this connected to the hats?"

"Will you calm down? I'm getting there." Gerard giggled. "So, we see in the play that Lucky is unable to think without his hat. Pozzo takes and gives back Lucky's hat as he pleases, using it to assert his power. You know the saying, 'knowledge is power'?"

Frank nodded, "Yeah, of course." 

"So, what makes Pozzo and Lucky have a relationship of 'master and servant' isn't actually the fact they call themselves that, but rather the fact one character has the ability to control the other's access to knowledge. If we disregard this, the two of them both have power over one another," Gerard said, finally turning in his seat away from the vanity, leaning back on his elbows and facing Frank.

Although Gerard had been talking for quite a bit, Frank had been inadvertently pondering upon Mikey's words to him at lunch time. 

_There's a reason why Gerard took Brendon's side in this whole ordeal. It's more personal to him than you think…_

At one point, Frank simply had to ask. 

"Gerard… why'd you take Brendon's side?"

Gerard didn't seem pleased by this change of topic, moving so quickly from something he deemed comfortable to such an uncomfortable question. "I don't owe you an explanation."

"I'm not saying you _owe_ me one, I'm just _asking_ for one," Frank argued, heart already heavy in his chest from having to discuss this issue for the hundredth millionth time.

"Frank, you told me yourself that Pete was the only person Brendon had come out to. I just used the process of elimination to come to the conclusion that Pete did indeed out him. I think doing something like that is simply deplorable, especially considering the horrible consequences it had on Brendon. I don't know why you defend Pete so vehemently." Gerard then turned back around towards the vanity, not looking at Frank through the mirror like he had done so confidently before. 

"Because he didn't do it!"

"And how do you know _that?"_ Gerard asked snarkily.

"Because he had no reason to, I was with him the whole weekend, and also - he told me so." Frank crossed his arms, making himself appear tougher even though Gerard wasn't looking at him. It wasn't for Gerard; it was so he felt like he could contain the flames of emotion building up in his chest, blocking them off.

"Oh, wow, _he told you so."_ Gerard scorned, "Had you told me that on day one, I would've believed you all along." His voice dripped so much sarcasm it was almost venomous.

Frank was burning up in rage, and before he knew it, he stood up from where he sat at Gerard's desk, arms still crossed. Gerard didn't look up to face him in the mirror, and kept his head down instead. Frank slowly but surely started making his way to the vanity, stopping a foot behind Gerard, who still didn't look up to face him.

"Gerard, look at me," he ordered, voice firm and certain. 

Gerard didn't move a muscle. "Why would I do that?" he retorted, just as snarky as his previous remarks.

That was it. That was the exact moment Frank knew they had burst. 

Before Frank could formulate even a single thought, his right hand flew across the air, grabbing a chunk of Gerard's hair and pulling it to make their eyes meet in the mirror. For a split-second, he was sure Gerard would elbow him in the nuts, but that wasn't what happened. 

When he focused on their reflection, Frank saw Gerard's mouth open in a silent moan before it turned into a wide impish grin. Gerard glared straight at him, just as bold and insolent as he had looked the day Frank slammed him onto his locker. He didn't look angry - no, not even a little bit. 

Gerard looked devious and proud, like someone who had cheated at a game and _won._

Still not thinking, Frank used his leverage on Gerard's hair to pull him up, then turned him around to capture his lips in a searing kiss. He didn't even have time to worry that he wasn't allowed to before Gerard started kissing back, just as heated. It was a blazing mess of pulling, scratching, biting - and it was everything Frank needed. Frank kissed like he was pouring out all the ugly emotions he felt; every ounce of anger, possessiveness, and jealousy he had previously felt towards Gerard was coming up like Gerard wanted to coax it out of him with his lips. 

Frank grabbed onto the back of Gerard's thighs, lifting him up slightly until Gerard got the gist and jumped up onto the surface of the vanity, barely breaking their kiss before he grabbed at Frank's shirt to bring him back in. The kiss was desperate and out of sync, but the two of them were more in tune than they had ever been before. Frank grabbed possessively at Gerard's hips, fully intent on bruising him any way he could. Upon thinking that, he paused their kiss, instead moving down to suck and bite at Gerard's pale neck. He whimpered at the sensation, and those sounds fueled Frank like alcohol thrown into a bonfire.

He pulled Gerard off the vanity, who made a confused noise that quickly turned into a moan when Frank flipped him back around to face the mirror. Frank raked his nails up the back of Gerard's thighs, making the raven-haired boy bend further over the vanity. He met Frank's gaze in the mirror, and quickly smirked at him, as if saying _"Is that all you got?"_ At the sight, Frank felt a low grumble escape his throat, and he yanked at Gerard's hair again, pulling hard enough to make him stand. When Gerard's back touched his chest, Frank moved his hand to grip at the pale boy's neck instead, tilting it back over his shoulder and quickly moving down to bite at the already bruising skin. Gerard hooked his arms behind Frank's head, holding him there, as if any of them had the willpower to pull apart. It was like they were both on auto-pilot, controlled by the force of the moment. 

For the first time in a very long while, Frank wasn't thinking at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've learned love is like a brick, you can build a house or sink a dead body."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> When I wrote the "Mikey Way. Junior." "Pete. Wentz." part I laughed about it alone in my room at 6am for like 10 minutes. I'm so fucking funny.
> 
> Also, Hayley Williams is a boss bitch in this fic and I hope you guys realize it, even if she's technically an antagonist. 
> 
> I wanna tag this fic "enemies to lovers" but it's more like "enemies AND lovers" lol. This fic went from "slow burn" to "extremely fast burn" in a flash huh?
> 
> Next chapter is called Applause!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> -Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	7. Applause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Give me the thing that I love!"

"So, you fucked Gerard." 

Frank stared back at Mikey, feeling like it was a little too early in the morning for that sort of conversation. "How do you know that?"

"Well, Frank, call me a genius, but Gerard's neck looks like he got attacked by an octopus. Luckily he put makeup over it this morning, but I saw him before he went to bed last night and Jesus, man. Also, his mood improved substantially since you came over yesterday."

Frank raised his eyebrows, "He has hickies?!" That fact intrigued him, and he thought that he definitely needed to see Gerard before they faded. Don't chastize Frank; we all have a kink or two. 

Mikey took a bite out of his sandwich and crossed his arms. "Seriously, Frank, what do you _think_ happens when you bite and suck at someone's neck repeatedly?" When Frank stayed silent, he continued, "Although, maybe go a little less rough next time? Watching my brother struggle to sit down at the breakfast table was a little much."

Frank asked himself, had he really been that rough? The previous afternoon was a flash of moments rather than a continuous memory; it reminded him of drunken nights even though he'd been completely sober. All he could remember clearly was the inextinguishable heat of it all - how he had gotten that heady powerful feeling again, and fed it until it consumed him entirely. Bits and pieces of Gerard flashed in his brain too: the various sounds he made, how his skin felt under his nails, and most importantly - his devious smile. 

"What are you eating?" Frank asked, hoping to change the subject before he started thinking too much about the previous afternoon.

"Omelet and Nutella sandwich," Mikey answered, taking another bite off his sandwich, humming happily like it had been made by Gordon Ramsay himself. 

Frank scrunched up his nose, "That's nasty."

Mikey swallowed down. "You're one to talk. You had sex with _Gerard._ He's nasty."

"Why do you say that?"

Mikey shrugged, "He's my brother; he's nasty by default. Also, back when we lived in France, he liked eating escargot."

"Is that the snail dish?" Frank scrunched up his nose again.

"Mhm. I tried it. It's nasty. If it wasn't considered a delicacy he'd probably eat it all the time."

"God..." Frank pondered, "That makes your omelet and Nutella sandwich sound a lot less offensive."

"Good morning!" Patrick said, joining their conversation. He turned to face Mikey, "Pete asked me to tell you that he's at his locker."

Mikey immediately put down his sandwich. "Where is it?" 

"Up in science, right by the stairs," Frank answered, and Mikey walked away without even saying goodbye. "What the hell is up with those two?" He asked Patrick.

"I don't know. They're like two halves of a really strange orange. This morning in the car Pete was talking about Mikey li- _oh my God, Frank."_ Patrick interrupted himself, gasping in shock.

"... what?" 

"You hooked up with Gerard!" He exclaimed, poking Frank's chest playfully and giggling like a child.

"What?! How the fuck do you know that? Also, keep your fucking voice down," Frank whispered harshly. He briefly wondered if people could read his mind, because it seemed like everyone always knew things about him without him ever saying anything. Clearly, this skill didn't go both ways, because Frank couldn't read people as well as people seemed to read him.

"You look more relaxed than you did yesterday. Also, I'm pretty sure there's a tiny hickey on your neck."

"Seriously?" Frank raised his phone to his neck right away, using the screen as a mirror. "No there isn't."

"No, but the fact you checked just proves my point." Patrick reasoned. "I can't _believe_ you did that, dude. Pete will kill you if he finds out."

"Luckily, he won't find out." Frank opened his locker, taking his history book and fidgeting around with his materials aimlessly. 

"You need to watch out, man. You're playing with fire." Patrick warned, and Frank could tell he was being honest. If Pete did find out Frank had slept with any of Brendon's friends, regardless of it being Gerard, he'd be very upset. Over the years, that group had made it almost impossible for Pete to make any friends. He didn't get picked for any teams in gym, despite being talented at sports. He often lost his lunch from being 'bumped' into by Ray, and once had to wear his gym clothes for the rest of the day from having his gym locker super glued shut by Brendon. Understandably, Pete was not a big fan of Brendon Urie or any of his friends.

"Are you going to do it again?" Patrick then asked, appearing genuinely concerned at the prospect.

Frank took a deep breath. "No."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes." Frank shut his locker for emphasis.

"Alright..." Patrick said, seemingly convinced. "I need to get my stuff before class. See you."

It took Frank exactly four minutes to break his promise to Patrick. When he made the promise, he was almost certain that he'd follow through. What he didn't account for, however, was his jealousy. Gerard didn't walk into school that morning alone; instead, he stood by Ray Toro, the two boys making jovial conversation like they had no care in the world. 

At the sight, Frank felt the familiar burning in his chest that he hated. Well, he didn't hate the _feeling,_ but he hated who it turned him into. It made him wallow in guilt for days after he indulged in it, but when it did in fact hit him, he was almost powerless to resist. 

Frank barely registered approaching Gerard, telling him they needed to talk, pulling him away from Ray and into a janitor's closet. He barely registered it when he threw Gerard against the closed door, grabbing his wrists and holding him in place. He barely registered it when he angrily attacked Gerard's collarbone, possessively biting at the flesh like he owned it. He only woke up to reality when Gerard finally spoke, which all but took Frank aggressively rubbing his thigh between his legs.

"Jesus, ah! Frank, what the fuck's gotten into you?"

It was then that Frank stopped to think for a moment. What the fuck _had_ gotten into him? He was treating Gerard as if he belonged to him. Who even did that? Frank let go of Gerard's wrists, the guilt of what he had done immediately settling in.

"I… I don't know." He mumbled, slowly backing off of Gerard. All the thoughts he had put off suddenly came back, flooding his mind all at once. Why did he have to be so shitty? Frank asked himself, when was he going to learn he wasn't the boss of anyone? That people didn't just belong to him? 

"Well… I don't know either..." Gerard smirked, suddenly grabbing Frank by the collar of his shirt and flipping them around, slamming him onto the door, "...but I like to see it."

Right as Frank was about to ask what the hell Gerard was about to do, the raven-haired boy dropped to his knees, never breaking the lustful eye-contact between them. The moment almost reminded Frank of church; Gerard looked like an angel with his flower crown and pearly white sweater. Unlike church though, Frank felt like the god being worshipped, having an angel at his feet.

But when Gerard gave him that devilish smile of his, Frank couldn't care less about church.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"Hey Gee." Hayley greeted Gerard as he walked into art. He didn't answer, and instead made his way to his seat, right across from her on a bench only the two of them ever used. He grimaced in pain as he sat down, wiggling around in his seat for a few moments until he found a comfortable position.

"I take it you fucked Frank yesterday?" Hayley asked, chest tight like she was struggling to hold back a laugh.

"Can you tell?" Gerard replied sarcastically, his voice hoarse and broken.

"Woah.." Hayley smiled like an asshole, "you sucked him off this morning too, didn't you?" 

Gerard crossed his arms, scandalized. "How the fuck do you know that?"

"One, your voice sounds fucked as hell. Two, I saw Frank in history first period and he had the attitude of someone who just got their dick sucked. So I put two-and-two together." Hayley said matter-of-factly. "Well, how did you do it?"

"Do what?" Gerard questioned, genuinely confused as to what Hayley was referring to. He wasn't as clever as he normally was that day; his sleep the previous night had been light, restless, and totally unrefreshing.

"Get Frank to fuck you. He's in his head a lot." She then explained, "I remember from when we were friends how hard it was to get him to be in the moment without overthinking every little thing. It was like he was only ever half there, you know? So, how did you hook up with him?" Hayley continued sketching, carefully shading a portrait of someone Gerard didn't recognize.

"In a nutshell, I annoyed him until he fucked me."

His deadpan delivery made Hayley laugh, and she immediately put her pencil down. "Is that it?"

"Well..." Gerard raised an eyebrow, shaking his head from side to side, "there were a few more steps along the way, but that's the general idea." He then grabbed his sketchbook from his backpack, arranging his materials onto the bench and opening up a watercolor set.

Hayley didn't look up at him as she spoke, but rather picked up her pencil again and went back to her portrait. "Do you think that was enough to get him out of your system?" She wondered offhandedly.

"Hayley, I'm pretty sure I just got him _into_ my system." Gerard walked over to a nearby sink, filling up a glass of water before sitting back down, again wincing in pain before finding a comfortable posture. He picked up a paintbrush and began dipping at the watercolors. 

There was a pause before Hayley spoke again. "I'm guessing it was good, then." 

Gerard put his paintbrush down, the wooden handle making a loud noise as it hit the bench. "And how do you know _that?"_

Hayley gave him a knowing smile, finally looking up from her drawing. "You wouldn't have sucked him off this morning if he didn't do well yesterday." She reasoned, waving her pencil around, "A blowjob is like… a reward. You basically gave him a pat on the back and trust me, the asshole felt very congratulated."

"Was it that bad?"

"He was so unshakably confident, you might've mistaken him for a straight man if he wasn't so well groomed." Gerard could tell Hayley was being genuine, and this statement was terrifying enough for Gerard to reconsider his actions for the first time. 

"God... remind me not to suck his dick ever again." 

"Actually, _mister..."_ She pointed a finger at him, like a mother about to lecture her child. "Remind _me,_ " she then pointed at herself, "to remind _you,_ " she pointed back at him, "not to dip your pen into the Pete gang ink ever again." Hayley then lowered her voice into a violent whisper, which admittedly made her sound a lot scarier than if she were yelling. "If Brendon finds out you hooked up with one of Pete's guys, he'll be so fucking hurt, dude. The only thing worse would be if you fucked Pete himself. I only allowed this to go on for as long as it did because I've known Frank since middle school and I know he can be a decent human when he wants to. However, he's the kind of person who decided that his friend outing someone wasn't a deal-breaker in a friendship. Are those the morals you're condoning?"

"I'm not condoning his morals, Hayley." Gerard rolled his eyes. "Think of him as a _really_ realistic dildo."

"Right. We're allowing the morally depraved to pound us now?" She sassed, clearly judging Gerard.

"Jesus… he didn't _pound_ me. That's a little aggressive."

Hayley crossed her arms, lips pursed and eyes emotionless. "Okay. Get up and do ten squats right now."

Gerard sighed, acknowledging he had lost this half of the argument. "Alright, point taken. I will avoid having sex with Frank Iero in the future."

"Nuh-uh!" Hayley waved a finger in the air, clearly signaling _no._ "Stop acting like sex with Frank is something that just _happens_ to you like it's a fucking migraine. Take control of your actions and say you won't do it."

Gerard groaned, "Fine. I will _refrain_ from having sex with Frank Iero in the future." 

"Very good." Hayley praised, appearing satisfied with the conversation and moving back to her portrait.

Let it be understood that Gerard Way had absolutely no intention of staying true to his word. Unlike Frank, he was incredibly impulsive. Instead of overthinking his every move, he was at the mercy of his heart's desires and he knew it. Gerard could tell himself he'd never hook up with Frank again as many times as he wanted - but he knew that if the opportunity arose and he felt like it, he'd pounce on the boy regardless. He knew his actions could have bad consequences, but Gerard hated going through life wondering 'what if' way more than he hated dealing with the aftermath of his actions. So, he never gave up on opportunities and simply dealt with negative consequences like Whack-A-Mole - he slammed them as they popped up, one at a time. 

Gerard didn't feel good about lying to Hayley, but likewise, he was too impulsive to keep his word. 

Gerard then remembered something he wanted to ask Hayley about in the morning. "By the way, where the hell were you and Brendon this morning? I saw your car parked outside but I didn't find either of you at your lockers like I usually do. Ray also came in early, told me he had something that needed to get done, then was late to psych."

Hayley gave him a malignant grin in response, like she had just hit the jackpot on a rigged slot machine. She remained silent, and a silent Hayley Williams was never good. Gerard noticed this, and became scared for whatever she was about to say right away. "Oh God… what did you guys do..?" 

Hayley waited a few more seconds, enjoying the suspense she held Gerard in before having mercy upon him and explaining. "You know that giant ant hill under the bleachers?" Gerard nodded; that ant hill was notorious for keeping students from hooking up in one of the school's most secluded locations. She continued, "So, we may or may not have spent the morning drawing a sugar water trail from that ant hill all the way to Pete Wentz's locker, where we know he keeps half-eaten candy bars."

Gerard gasped, "Hayley, what the fuck?! Pete'll have ants in his locker until graduation!"

She shrugged noncommittally, "...and?"

"You came up with that plan, didn't you? Ray wouldn't think of something that malevolent and I'm not yet sure if Brendon thinks at all."

She shrugged again, but this time the impish smile on her face told Gerard everything he needed to know. Although Gerard would never admit it, Frank was starting to get under his skin. He was starting to doubt whether Pete had indeed outed Brendon. He tried putting himself in Pete's shoes; what reason could he possibly have to out someone who he'd been good friends with up until then? Mainly, _what could Pete have possibly gained out of doing that?_ The more Gerard thought about it, the less he understood Pete's alleged actions. 

Regardless of how unsure he was of Pete and his character, Frank had gotten under his skin enough for Gerard to take action. 

When art was over, he immediately left school, ditching math and speed walking to the nearest hardware store. Once there, he purchased a can of the most powerful bug spray he could find, making his way back to school in a flash.

 _"The shit I do for this stunted illiterate idiot… "_ Gerard angrily mumbled under his breath as he power walked back to school, single-minded determination in his step. 

He quickly made his way to the football field, where sure enough, he could see a thin trail of ants making their way out of the bleachers and towards the school's back entrance. Gerard quickly got to work, starting to spray a few feet from the ant hill as he didn't want to just kill off the entire colony. He followed the ant trail all the way into school, up the stairs, and a few feet down a hallway up to Pete Wentz's locker. Gerard could tell the locker belonged to Pete because a few ants were already coming in and out of the closed hatch, and no nearby lockers had bidirectional insect movement. To combat this, he sprayed all around the locker, making a perfectly rectangular shield around the door. Soon enough, the ant movement stopped, and Gerard figured the ants trapped inside would eventually die off. 

He suddenly found himself standing in the middle of a hallway, ditching class, in front a locker he did not own, and with a can of maximum strength bug spray in his hands.

Gerard briefly wondered what the hell he saw in Frank.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Frank was the first person in his group to make it to the lunch table that afternoon. He prayed to whatever god was looking after him that Patrick couldn't read his morning activities on his face, and briefly wondered if Pete would be able to read him too if he tried. If the thought even crossed his mind, Frank was sure Pete would see right through him. Was he just imagining it, or had Pete looked particularly suspicious yesterday when he asked Frank if he was fucking Gerard? There was definitely an unusual glint to his eyes, or perhaps a strange twitch to his lips? Something was surely off.

"Hey there!" Patrick greeted Frank as he sat down. But before Frank could start worrying about his friend seeing right through him, the blond boy spoke again, pointing at something behind Frank. "Dude, what the hell?"

Frank turned to see what had him so confused, and sure enough, the sight more than lived up to Patrick's reaction. Mikey and Pete had both changed clothes from the morning up to now. They were gliding smoothly into the cafeteria, now wearing matching neon magenta jackets, cow-printed shirts, and siren red pants. They even had matching blue fanny packs. When Frank looked down at their feet, he was absolutely horrified at what he saw.

The two of them were wearing matching bright green heelys. 

It was, without a doubt, the worst outfit Frank had ever seen in his life. And there were _two_ of it. The only thing that set Pete and Mikey apart was the fact they had different hairdos; Pete's hair was a fading bubblegum pink, and Mikey's slicked bleached pompadour made him look like the lost Jedward sibling. Their heights also set them apart, but their height difference was certainly the least striking thing about them. 

It was the single most offensive, _atrocious_ thing Frank had ever laid his eyes on. It was like a car crash; he hated looking, but he was so intrigued that he also couldn't _stop_ looking.

Patrick spoke first, breaking the stunned silence that befell the two boys. "Oh my God, they're-"

"-matching." Frank finished for him, equally as awed, but also equally as disturbed.

"Hey guys!" Mikey and Pete said at the same time, rolling up to Patrick and Frank, arms linked and looking proud. They looked like they genuinely believed they could walk - or better yet, _roll_ \- down the runway of Paris Fashion Week. 

The words just refused to come out when Frank opened his mouth. He opened and closed it repeatedly like a dying fish, and turned to Patrick in a moment of despair, but Patrick looked just as disoriented as he did.

Frank was about to throw out a random remark about how Mikey and Pete seemed to have brought out the worst in each other's fashion senses, when a realization stopped him right in his tracks.

For the first time in a long while, Pete looked happy.

He didn't look hollow or weighed down. He just looked happy. 

Sure, he looked _dumb as hell,_ but he looked _happy._

Patrick seemed to have noticed this too, because when he finally spoke, he made exactly zero comments about the obvious style trainwreck before them.

"Good afternoon, guys." He said, a friendly smile plastered across his face.

The other two boys sat down across from each other, never taking their eyes off of one another. Frank thought there was a level of synergy there that was almost terrifying - he was shocked Mikey and Pete had been able to live so long _without_ knowing each other. Patrick's earlier words about Mikey and Pete being two halves of a really strange orange echoed back to him, and Frank definitely saw what Patrick meant then.

He spent the rest of his lunch time not paying attention to any conversation, distracted by the fashion disasters that sat by him. Frank remembered how he and Gerard had been out of sync yet in tune; Mikey and Pete seemed the opposite - in sync, but out of tune to the rest of the world. Why did they have it so easy? Frank knew he and Gerard had it _natural,_ but they definitely didn't have it easy.

Frank knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, however, that easy wasn't even what he wanted. No. Easy would kill him.

When he got home that day, Frank had totally forgotten about his afternoon plans up until his mom brought them up.

"Is the Gerard boy still coming over?" She asked, dropping a piece of breaded chicken into the deep fryer. 

Frank quickly approached her, pushing her gently aside and taking over the cooking. He hated it when his mother used the deep-fryer. Once when he was a kid, Frank had seen his mom get a horrible oil burn when using it; she had only been making deep-fried chicken because Frank specifically asked for it, which made him feel incredibly guilty about ever letting his mother use a deep-fryer again. Linda had a scar on her left arm as a result of the burn, and even though Frank didn't feel guilty every time he saw it, it made Frank's insides coil in shame every time his mother was near hot oil.

"You know, I'm an adult, Frank. I'm pretty sure I can make my own food. Also, you didn't answer my question." 

"Yeah, yeah, he's coming over." Frank finally replied, using some tongs to drop a piece of chicken into the fryer. "At around five-thirty, I'm pretty sure."

His mother checked the clock by the fridge. "That's only five minutes from now! Why didn't you tell me earlier?! What if he shows up ea-"

She was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and before she went to answer the door, Linda rolled up a magazine from the kitchen counter, whacking Frank upside the head with it and making her way to the front door. 

Frank heard his mother making small talk with Gerard from the kitchen, and at one point, he was sure his mother was subtly trash talking him to Gerard because he heard some loud whispers followed by some laughing. He continued frying the chicken like nothing was going on. When Linda returned to the kitchen, Frank heard an additional pair of footsteps before a loud obnoxious gasp filled the room.

"Is that Frank Iero… _cooking?"_ Gerard sounded like he had just seen a unicorn - confused yet utterly fascinated.

"I'll have you know..." His mother started, and Frank could hear the smile in her voice even without looking at her. "Frankie here is quite the chef."

He heard the smile in Gerard's voice when he replied too. "Oh really? That's interesting." 

Frank rolled his eyes even though neither his mother nor Gerard could see the gesture. There was something about Gerard's voice that made Frank want to hear him talk even when he hated what Gerard had to say. There was a strangely endearing feminine quality to his voice, like there was to his entire being, and it made Frank want to give Gerard the entire Lord of the Rings series just so he'd have something to read out loud. Frank didn't even like Lord of the Rings. _That's_ how much he liked Gerard's voice.

"Are you just gonna keep ogling me or are we gonna get some work done today?" Frank finally spoke, rinsing his hands and drying them before turning around to face Gerard and his mother.

When Frank looked at Gerard, he was smiling, his usual mischievous grin on full display. Although Frank wasn't particularly shy, he sometimes envied Gerard's bold spontaneous attitude. He had to rethink everything countless times before taking a fraction of an action; meanwhile, Gerard seemed like he just did things as he desired them - casual and unashamed.

"Is that literary excitement I'm sensing or are you just happy to see me?" Gerard joked, even though Frank thought it could've been a genuine inquiry.

Linda chimed in, "And are you two gonna keep flirting in my kitchen, or can I get back to cooking?"

The two boys exchanged flustered looks, making their way out of the kitchen in silence. Frank swore to himself that he needed to ask his mother to stop embarrassing him in front of the one boy whose opinion he cared about. Frank then realized such an affair would be completely useless, and instinctively reached into his jean pockets to grab his phone, wanting the sense of security it provided, before withdrawing his empty hands from his pockets. He patted himself down right away, searching for any indication of his phone anywhere on his body. 

"My phone. I can't find it."

Gerard frowned, "Isn't it in your backpack?"

Frank contemplated for a few seconds. Would he place his phone in his backpack? No. Frank had never done that in the whole time he had a phone. He always kept his phone right on his body, where he could feel it close to his skin. 

It then occurred to him, and he literally smacked himself upside the head just like his mother had done not too long before. 

Frank had left his phone at school. 

He was in the library, rushing to finish his history work for the day before heading home as he could never work on history at night. Frank had put his phone down just for a second, but a second was more than long enough for Frank to get caught up in his head again, thinking about anything and everything as he headed out of the library and into his car. 

"I left it at school," he groaned, feeling like he was making a fool of himself in front of Gerard for the hundredth time, "tell my mom I'll drive back to pick it up. You can just stay here."

"Alright." Gerard nodded, heading back into the kitchen.

Frank rushed to school, not wanting to leave his mother alone with Gerard for even a second longer than he needed to. Any second he was gone could be a second used by his mother to tell Gerard embarrassing stories about Frank, and he just wasn't in the mood for Gerard to think of him as an even greater dumbass than he probably already did. 

When Frank arrived at school, he ran to the library at top speed, finding his phone was still untouched at the table where he had left it before running right back to his car. When he sat back down at the driver's seat, Frank began panting like a maniac - all those gym classes he'd skipped were definitely catching up to him. He gave himself a minute or two to recover before stepping right on the gas and making his way back home, not in any less of a rush than he had been earlier.

Frank barely even got the key out of the ignition when he flew out of his car, making his way inside his house way more exhausted than he should've been. He heard music coming from the other side of his front door, which briefly gave him flashbacks to being in Gerard's bedroom that he immediately pushed aside. Frank walked into his house, tossing his car keys into their usual bowl before making his way to the kitchen, towards the music. He was almost like a man charmed, flowing to the sound like it was pulling at his brain.

Frank stepped into the kitchen, and briefly wondered if he was blessed or cursed to witness the sight before him. Gerard and his mother were both dancing to an upbeat pop song, carelessly singing along like they were performing the song themselves.

_"Don't go for second best, baby! Put your love to the test..."_

_"You know, you know you've got to… make him express how he feels..."_

His mother was stirring at a bowl, gently moving her upper body to the beat of the song. Gerard however, danced like he had choreographed the song himself. He swayed his hips like they were barely attached to his spine, soft and delicate yet still strong and filled with purpose. Gerard spotted Frank by the doorframe, and extended his finger out to him, motioning for Frank to approach. This gesture combined with Gerard's sultry stare suddenly made Frank feel like he was about to be on the receiving end of a lap dance, and he felt himself walk further into the kitchen without ever making the conscious decision to do so.

Gerard then grabbed him, once again dragging him like they were in the middle of a discotheque. Frank found himself feeling light and breezy, like the weight of his thoughts was suddenly lifted off his shoulders.

Frank Iero was addicted to anything that stopped him thinking. Anything that gave him the mental break he so craved was more tempting than cocaine could ever be. That was why he could never resist a beer when offered, and why his mother took away the sleeping pills that made him sleep like the dead. He valued the times his mind was quiet like the most expensive of treasures. 

And nothing wiped his head cleaner than Gerard Way - not even the alcohol Frank often compared him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Put your hands up, make 'em touch, make it real loud!"  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Y'all thought you were getting a shy, innocent Gerard when you saw this tagged as "Pastel Gerard Way" huh? You thought wrong as hell!
> 
> Next chapter is called LoveGame! 
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> -Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	8. LoveGame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: irresponsible drug use. If you want to skip it just skip past the bit in italics at the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He wants to play, wants to play a LoveGame."

_Frank laid on his side, watching the morning light crack through the window as sunrise approached. His bedroom faced east, and thus the sun always made itself very much present right as dawn replaced night. Outside was perfectly still - there were no cars driving by or anyone taking a morning stroll yet. Frank thought the world must've been mocking him then; how could everything be so still when his mind was so full of movement? It made him resent absolutely everything around him to no end._

_Although he knew it must've been around six o'clock, Frank downright refused to check the time. If he checked the time, it'd be a surrender to his buzzing thoughts. That was all Frank could absorb from his brain in times like these: buzz buzz buzz, like a swarm of unrelenting bumblebees that never tired of flying. It was the worst kind of white noise._

_It was a winter morning, and Frank could see the harsh sunlight starting to reflect off of the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. He was already halfway through his junior year of high school, but the stress of his academics was nowhere near his biggest problem at the moment. He'd been hearing about AP courses and college applications endlessly over the past couple of months, but that was only background noise to Frank. If his daily preoccupations were flies, the endless buzz of his mind was a spider's web - catching and trapping all his tasks, stopping them from ever being absorbed by his brain. Frank was past anxiety; he felt like a zombie barely risen from the dead._

_In all honesty, Frank just wanted to sleep._

_He'd been awake for God knows how long. His attempts at sleeping the previous night weren't much more successful either: he'd fallen asleep intermittently throughout the night, but not even a second of the sleep he got made Frank feel any more well-rested. He was exhausted; completely and utterly drained. Frank felt his body sink into the mattress as he lay - not only heavy, but pulled down. He felt his bed almost drag him in, trying to let him drift off into sleep. It was a game of tug-of-war: his body versus his head, and his head was winning._

_Frank looked across the room at his desk where he had placed his backpack. It had remained relatively untouched over Christmas and the few days that followed. Frank had taken it somewhere on New Year's Eve, though. He read in an online forum that someone who was struggling with the same issues as him used a brand new type of sleeping medication - it was over-the-counter, but it was also a little pricey and Frank couldn't afford it without asking his mom for a suspicious amount of money. Thus, on December 31st, Frank walked into the busiest drugstore in his town on what was that street's busiest night of the year. He thought he must've felt guilty about shoplifting, but as far as Frank was concerned, big pharma could suck it._

_He hadn't taken the new pills yet, though. It'd only been two days, and he figured now was a better time than ever to try them. He spent a few moments staring at his backpack, where he had kept the pills, and contemplated what he was about to do._

_No, he thought - he needed to try this. Frank had nothing to lose._

_He made his way up, out of his bed and towards his backpack. While opening up the brand new bottle, Frank could've sworn he heard some stirring around the house, but when he stopped to listen for a few seconds he heard nothing at all. Sleep deprivation could cause paranoia and auditory hallucinations, and Frank knew this, so he quickly moved on from the scare and tilted the bottle, spilling some pills onto his hands._

_How many did he even need? He decided to go with two, as he liked even numbers. Frank then walked back to his bed, bottle in hand, and placed it in the back of his bedside drawer behind some miscellaneous items. As he laid down again, he began wondering if this was going to be effective. He brought his blanket back up over his chest, still facing the window. As the minutes passed, Frank realized something extraordinary._

_His mind was becoming quieter. The buzz was still there, but it was like someone had turned its speed down - Frank felt like he was experiencing time in slow motion._

_And it was the best thing he had felt in a while._

_He reached back into his drawer, eager to turn up the lazy feeling. Frank took the recently opened bottle and poured more of the pills out onto his hand. How many would he take now? Four? No, five? That'd make a total of seven. Frank didn't want to overdo it; sure, he wanted to fall asleep, but he also wanted to wake up eventually. He decided an extra five would be perfect. Although he thought four was a more satisfying number, it seemed like too little, yet six felt like too much. Frank took another five pills, settling down in bed once again feeling content._

_The minutes passed him by, and Frank didn't know how many minutes actually passed before he began feeling the familiar pull of sleep. This time, though, there wasn't the usual resistance of his brain. He swore that he heard his mother calling out to him, but it was like he'd been pulled underwater; her voice was distant and muffled._

_As he drifted off, Frank felt the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. His mind was finally quiet._

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"I like that Gerard boy," Linda said when they finally sat down to eat. Although she had tried to get Gerard to stay over for dinner, he insisted he didn't want to overstay his welcome and politely left, leaving Frank to have a very awkward conversation with his mother.

"Alright." He replied, unsure of what else to say.

"He's sweet," his mother continued, "I can see why you like him." She smiled teasingly at Frank.

 _"Mom."_ He whined, not very happy about the conversation topic at hand. Although it felt good back when he came out to his mom and told her about Gerard, Frank's emotional state had now progressed past the need to talk to his mom about boys. He took a bite out of his veggie wrap, chewing on it to distract himself from the discussion.

"You know," his mom continued again, not bothering with Frank's distressed response, "I can see that he likes you too."

"Pft, right," Frank uttered under his breath, "he's just interested in the meantime. I'm only entertaining him for now." 

"I don't think it's that simple, boy. When it comes to people, what you see is often just the tip of the iceberg." Linda took a bite out of her chicken and swallowed it down. "As much as you're in the 'Gerard' chapter of your life, he's in the 'Frank' chapter of his."

"If he cares about me, he sure doesn't act like it." Frank scoffed. It seemed like Gerard was only ever into him when he had some sort of second interest. Although it bothered him, Frank kept this frustration hidden from Gerard because at least he was getting _something._ He was getting to feed that enticing fire that lived inside his chest, and for now, that was enough.

Linda put down her piece of chicken, suddenly gaining the strong look of maturity she often got when she was about to tell Frank something important. "Frankie," she started, and he knew then it was serious because she hardly ever called him that, "people reveal themselves through their actions the most when they believe no one's watching. A person's most sincere actions, the ones truest to their character, are generally the ones you'll never hear about."

Frank put down his food too, lightly slamming his hands on the table in frustration. "Well then how am I supposed to see how he feels about me?"

"You don't need to _see_ to know. You can just feel it." His mother replied sincerely, and Frank knew she must've been right. Linda Iero was hardly ever wrong anyways. "Think of the Gerard boy, Frankie. For how many hours a day are you around him?"

"... uh." Frank thought about it for a few seconds, doing the mental math rather quickly. "One and a half? Maybe three or four when we're working on our English project. We only have that class together."

"See?" His mother took a sip of juice before continuing, "That leaves Gerard at least twenty hours in the day to do whatever he chooses, darling. What do you think Gerard does in his non-Frank time? He likely doesn't just sit around waiting for you to come by again. Not for twenty hours, at least. Maybe for one or two, but certainly not twenty."

She had a point, because of course she did. At this point, Frank had learned to just accept whatever his mother told him as she was more likely to be correct at any given moment than he was. Although Frank was fairly smart, being pretty talented at math and science, he certainly wasn't _clever._ Frank knew himself to be book-smart, but he lacked the sharp wit his mother and Gerard both seemed to have - and he was completely aware of this fact. Gerard in particular had a cunning quality Frank deeply envied; he could take any situation and twist it in his favor. Frank could solve definite integrals and differential equations better than anyone else he knew, but it came at the expense of going through life horribly shortsighted; people always seemed to be two steps ahead of him no matter what.

"Your birthday is coming up, boy." Linda changed topics, likely feeling as if the Gerard conversation had already been exhausted. "Do you have anything in mind for what you're doing this year? It's your big eighteen."

"I guess I'll just hang out with Patrick and Pete. Maybe Mikey too, if Pete feels like inviting him," Frank responded unenthusiastically.

"Mikey?" His mother tilted her head in bemusement, "Who's that? I don't know a Mikey."

"Oh, Mikey is Gerard's younger brother. He's a junior. Really close with Pete."

She pursed her lips, "How _close,_ exactly?"

Frank let out a light laugh, "That's the million dollar question."

She laughed as well, but quickly returned to the previous subject. "Okay, regardless, you need to do something special for your eighteenth, baby! You only turn eighteen once."

Frank reflected for a few seconds, trying to think of what he could ask for. He'd been wanting to get a tattoo for a while, but would his mother allow it? That was silly, he immediately realized; he'd be turning eighteen, the whole point being that she didn't need to _allow_ him to do pretty much anything anymore. Frank did need money, however. Although he was technically becoming an adult, his finances were still one of a teenager.

"Uh, I guess I've been wanting to get a tattoo for a while now? Or a piercing. I don't know." He suggested, very much unsure of himself.

"Oh… are you sure, Frankie?" She didn't sound mad but rather doubtful. 

"Yeah. I'd need money, though." He admitted, voice high-pitched and insecure.

Linda reflected for a while, thinking about the decision. She seemed to be considering it for real, which made Frank feel hopeful she'd actually allow it; this was rather surprising, as he had expected to be shut down immediately upon making his suggestion.

"Alright." She eventually said, making Frank gasp in joy right away. Before he could say anything, though, she added, _"But,_ I'll only give you money for the piercing. No tattoos for now."

Frank couldn't be bothered to mourn his tattoo plans - his mother had actually allowed him to get a piercing! He had absolutely no hopes of being allowed any body mods in the first place, so a piercing seemed like a total win to Frank. He stood up, walking around to the opposite end of the table and giving his mom a big hug. "Thank you so so so so so so much, I promise I'll wash all the dishes until college, I'll bake on weekends, I'll-" 

She interrupted him, "Alright, alright, boy." Linda handed him her empty dish, "Just go to the kitchen and get to cleaning before I change my mind." 

Frank had never washed dishes with such vigor before. He scrubbed them until he could see his own reflection on the pale glass, cleaning them almost to the point of sterilization. He was aware that he was most definitely overdoing it, but Frank wasn't about to give his mom a reason to give up on the piercing money, so he scrubbed them dishes like they were golden.

When Frank laid down in bed that evening, he couldn't help but think about Gerard and Pete. More specifically, how on earth he'd get himself out of this situation without losing Pete while still getting to keep Gerard. It seemed like a lose-lose situation; he'd either hurt his friend by not breaking things off with Gerard, or he'd hurt himself by doing right by Pete. He'd been Frank's friend for over three years, and Frank felt guilty for doing something that would eventually be so hurtful to Pete, considering Pete had never done anything to hurt him. 

Truthfully, Frank was starting to feel like a little bit of an asshole. 

He needed to get all of this out of his system. But who could he even talk to? His mom? Definitely not. She'd tell him off for being an asshole, which, to be fair - he knew he probably deserved. Patrick? Frank already knew what Patrick would tell him: that he needed to break things off with Gerard immediately. Besides, he'd already broken a promise to Patrick, and telling him about the situation would require Frank to admit he hadn't stayed true to his word. _No thank you._

Frank knew he definitely wouldn't talk to Pete or Gerard about it; that'd probably just lead to an even bigger division between the two groups. Besides, they were both too involved to be objective. Frank needed someone who wouldn't be afraid to tell him off, but also someone who'd have his particular interests in mind. 

In a nutshell, Frank needed Jamia. 

Jamia had been his best friend all throughout middle school, until Jamia got a scholarship for a fancy private high school in New York City, causing her family to relocate and the two friends to separate. Although they didn't talk very often, when they did reunite, it was like they hadn't spent any time apart at all. 

Frank hadn't realized how much he missed Jamia until now. When he thought about it, he missed her so much that he felt his entire chest tighten around his heart at the thought of seeing her again. Without second thought, Frank called her, hoping to whatever god looking out for him that she'd pick up.

On the very last ring, Frank heard a low voice on the other end of the line. "Hello?"

"Jamia Nestor, this is an emergency you must attend to immediately." Frank announced with the most serious tone he could muster.

There was a short silence before she played along, "Enlighten me, Captain." Her voice was raspy, likely with sleep, which made Frank feel a little shitty about not waiting till morning to call.

"I am deeply involved in what the kids call 'some shit,' and am in desperate need of your guidance." 

This statement made her drop the act right away, "Oh God Frank, what the fuck did you do?"

Her hasty assumption made him drop the act too. "Woah, hold on, what makes you think I was the one getting into trouble? For all you know, someone else dragged me into it."

There was a groan on the other side of the line, "Well, was I right or what?"

Frank's initial response was to roll his eyes, but he groaned back to make his frustration known. "Yeah. Well, sorta. It's not really a matter of _what_ I did, but _who."_

Although they were just on a normal phone call, he could almost _hear_ Jamia actually rolling her eyes through the phone. She made her thoughts known rather quickly and rather eloquently too. 

"Frank Iero, you fucking idiot." She paused for a few seconds, taking a long sigh before continuing, "Meet me on Friday at the usual place on Fifth. Let's sort this out."

Frank's face broke in a splitting grin, and he hummed happily at her. "You're the best. Did you know that?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "Six. Don't be late." 

"Yes ma'am." Frank did a military salute to accompany the respectful words, even though Jamia couldn't see it. Barely a second later, she hung up. Frank understood her straightforwardness was likely due to the time rather than her emotions towards him; Jamia had always been an early sleeper - and a heavy one too - a quality which Frank envied for years. It was only quarter-to-ten, but she tended to be asleep by nine-thirty, so Frank really couldn't get mad at her for being a little cranky. He figured she had either just fallen asleep or was about to when he called. 

Frank was on a bit of a streak in terms of being an asshole to his friends lately. 

That night, Frank spent hours laying in bed, watching the ceiling and willing for sleep - his body exhausted from the day, but his mind just as restless as it had always been.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

When Friday finally rolled around, Frank was almost vibrating in his seat during his last period class from the excitement of finally seeing Jamia. The last time he'd seen her was over spring break in junior year, and although he loved Patrick and Pete, the friendship he shared with Jamia was unique. She'd been the first person he ever came out to, and owned a special place in his heart from being the first person Frank ever called his best friend. 

He drove straight to Newark from school, parking his car by Penn station and buying a train ticket into Lower Manhattan. To get to their spot on Fifth Street by six, Frank had to rush to hop on the 4:48 train, and he just barely made it inside before the doors shut behind him, almost catching his backpack until Frank yanked it towards himself. As was expected from a train going into Manhattan on a Friday afternoon, the cart was packed, and Frank didn't manage to score a seat. He grabbed onto a holding bar and plugged in his earphones, blasting his usual 90s punk music and settling in for the ride.

What was usually a 20-minute ride felt like an eternity to Frank, and he swore the hairs on his head had turned white by the time he got off at the World Trade Center. He immediately got on the subway, making his way up to Washington Square Park before switching lines. Frank hated the New York City subway; it was old, clunky, and stunk to high heaven just like the rest of the city. However, it was the best way to navigate around New York, as the permanence of the metro lines made Frank feel much safer than a cab ride would. Frank was always wary of taxis - he didn't know the city very well, so letting someone who knows the city upside down take him anywhere made him feel way too out of control for his liking. 

When Frank got off the station at 2nd Avenue, it was already past quarter-to-six, and he almost sprinted to the coffee shop where he and Jamia always met. It had gorgeous lighting, they ground the coffee beans right as you made your order, and the baristas were always extremely good-looking. Although Frank didn't think hot guys were a requirement for any establishment, he did enjoy a side of eye-candy with his coffee. Don't judge him.

By the time he got to the coffee shop, Frank was panting, even though the run wasn't actually that long. The physical exertion had made Frank totally unaware of the usual piss stench in the city, but as soon as he stopped running, Frank felt the repugnant smell of urine invade his nostrils. Although he loved coming into the city to see Jamia, Frank wouldn't live in Manhattan if he got paid to do it. 

He briefly looked past the window into the shop before stepping inside, the offensive piss stench suddenly being replaced by the delicious smell of fresh coffee. Frank closed his eyes briefly to appreciate the heavenly scent. When he opened his eyes, he saw a small hand waving at him - he momentarily cursed Jamia and her tendency to get places early. However, when she flashed him a friendly smile, he couldn't bother to get mad. Frank ran to the high table where she was sitting on a stool, wrapping her in a suffocating hug. 

He spoke first, "God, you need to move back to Jersey. This place-"

"-stinks, doesn't it?" Jamia finished for him, pulling away from the hug and smiling at Frank again. For a brief moment, the two friends just stared at each other in awe, happy to be reunited. Finally, Jamia spoke again, "Do you wanna get something to drink?"

Frank almost moaned at the thought of nice coffee. "If I ever say no to that question, I've been killed and replaced."

She laughed, and the two of them made their way to the counter. Frank ordered a latte, and slightly winced as Jamia ordered her usual black coffee with no cream or sugar. What kind of shit had she seen in her life to enjoy such bitterness? 

"Is this what private school does to you? Takes the fun out of everything?" Frank asked, watching as Jamia placed the change back in her wallet.

She sighed, "I dare you to be around rich people for seven hours a day and then tell me you don't crave the blackest coffee on earth." The two of them sat back down, waiting for their names to be called. 

"Eesh, how's that going, by the way? Private school in the city?" Frank wondered, genuinely curious. He'd never been to private school or spent more than a weekend in the city, so Jamia's lifestyle seemed like another universe to him.

Jamia's name was called right away, and she quickly got up to pick up her drink. She always got her coffee first since her order was so simple. She sat back down, "Where were we? School?" Frank nodded, and Jamia got right back to the topic. 

"I mean, the teachers are great; the classes are fucking awesome, man. The people aren't as bad as you'd think..." She took a sip of her coffee, seeming totally oblivious to the strong flavor or heat. "They're not rude or anything like that, but they're just… disconnected, you know? They live in their own little rich bubbles. Sure there are a few rude ones, but for the most part they're actually alright. I told a kid in my chemistry class that I took the subway home and he acted like I told him I took a fucking spaceship everyday. He wasn't rude about it, he was just… intrigued by the concept. None of them even have MetroCards."

"Shit, dude..." Frank didn't even _live_ in the city and he had a MetroCard. "Are your parents still working like..." he trailed off, unsure of what to call her parents' working habits from the last time they met.

Jamia stepped in, "Maniacs? Yeah. Mom still works two jobs and dad still does the overnight shift at the hospital to get the extra coin. Sometimes I see him coming home from work when I'm leaving for school." She downed her coffee all at once like a shot. "Rent in the city is insane," she added. Her father was a nurse, and hearing his work stories back in middle school had always made Frank appreciate nurses way more. 

"Jesus. What about college? Are you applying this year?" 

"Yeah. School has a bunch of fancy college advisors and shit. They even bought this software that takes all your grades and personal preferences to match you to certain colleges. My advisor told me to go Ivy because I was a scholarship recipient in high school already and I have the grades for it. I don't know if I feel like it's the best option, though. If I don't get the aid I need, my parents would never be able to pay an Ivy tuition." 

Frank's name was then called, and he got up to fetch his drink before sitting back down. 

"What about you?" Jamia asked, "College?"

"Nah," Frank took a sip of his latte, humming contently, "I'm taking a gap year for now. I do want to go eventually but now's not the right time." 

She nodded in understanding, then smiled cheekily as she changed topics. "So… I believe we did meet here for a reason, Mr. Iero."

Frank raised his eyebrows, mentally preparing himself for all the explaining he was about to do. "Right." He took a few more sips of his latte, enjoying the sweet flavor before the conversation turned bitter. 

"So, go ahead. What's wrong?"

He took a deep breath before starting, getting more comfortable in his seat. "So, you know how there's this whole fight between my friends and this one other group at school?" Jamia nodded again; she'd heard plenty about the rivalry. "Right, there's this new guy, Gerard, and he's friends with Ray, Brendon, and Hayley. He's kinda the new member of their group."

Her face fell into a frown. "Oh no, Frank."

Frank sighed, "Yeah." He took another sip of his latte. "So, we were getting to know each other when he became friends with them. We're locker buddies. We even went out for coffee one morning before class. We were almost friends, then they took him away. I tried explaining my side of the story to him but he didn't believe me. He took Brendon's side and then he ignored me for almost a whole month."

"But he stopped ignoring you, yeah?" 

"Not voluntarily, no. We got paired together for an English project. Because he's great and I suck, our teacher paired us so he could sorta mentor me. The worst part is that the asshole does it really well." Frank grunted, appearing to be slightly disgusted before a sip of his coffee wiped the expression clean off his face. 

"Wow..." Jamia giggled, "How _dare_ he help you improve in one of your classes, free of charge? What a dick." She sassed, still laughing lightly.

"He's like… perfect to the point where it's infuriating, you know? He's adorable and angelic but he's also clever and dirty all at the same time." Frank then downed the rest of his latte, placing the cup aside before continuing, "Back to what actually happened between the two of us, one day we were working on the project in his room and somehow we started arguing about the whole Brendon thing. I had always felt some sorta tension between us, and I knew it was only a matter of time before it blew up; we were either gonna punch or fuck each other, and this argument was like the last drop."

"I'm guessing you fucked, then." Jamia reasoned. 

"Yeah. I thought this was gonna break the tension between us, but it was like we just added wood to the fire. Once we had a taste of each other..." Frank thought for a minute, thinking back to the dynamic he and Gerard shared. "... it was like we couldn't stop." He finally finished, feeling relieved it was out into the universe.

"So," Jamia scrunched up her face thoughtfully, "what's the issue?"

"Pete, man." He started up again, "Patrick knows Gerard and I hooked up that first time, but he advised me to stop after it happened. I promised him I wouldn't do it again, because Pete would be so hurt if he found out one of us were fucking any of Brendon's friends. I really did make that promise intent on keeping it..." Frank went back into a contemplative silence.

"Then why'd you break it?" She asked, sounding unhappy with Frank's actions but still non judgemental. 

He stayed silent, searching for a reason why he broke his promise to Patrick. He searched every corner of his brain, but in the end, Frank could only find a single reason why. "I can't think when I'm with Gerard." He confessed, slightly ashamed. 

"But… Frank, you can't ever stop thinking." Jamia stated confidently, remembering how he'd been a huge overthinker for as long as she'd known him.

"That's why I can't make myself just _quit_ him! Everything I've searched for in drinks, pills, music… he does without even trying." Frank stared down at the floor, eyes wide in insecurity. "How do I do this, Jamia? I can't hurt Pete, but I don't know how to fucking _stop."_

Jamia thought for a few seconds, considering the situation at hand. Frank trusted her judgement perhaps more than anyone else's, and if she didn't know what to do, he'd probably consider running away and just creating a completely new identity. Jamia tapped her nails on the table as she thought, suddenly stopping.

"Frank, I feel like there's something you've forgotten in this whole scenario." She eventually said, sounding calm and collected.

"What?" He asked, directing his gaze away from the floor and back to Jamia.

She gave him an honest tight-lipped smile. "Pete's your _friend._ Don't you think that if you explained your situation with Gerard, he wouldn't at least _try_ to understand? Especially if it's something this significant to you?"

Shit. Jamia was right. Frank had completely forgotten that he had the option of being _honest._ "But… won't he be hurt?" He wondered, looking back down at the ground.

"Maybe," she admitted, "but he _will_ find out eventually, and he'll be _way_ more hurt if he doesn't find out from you." Jamia snapped her fingers in front of Frank's face, forcing him to look back up at her again. She took on a serious tone, looking right into his eyes as she said, "Frank, you _need_ to tell Pete. You need to be honest with him. Or the consequences will be much bigger than they need to be."

Again, she had a point. Frank knew Jamia was right. He knew that what she was suggesting was the smartest course of action. 

He fidgeted nervously with the zipper on his jacket. "Is there anything else I could do?" 

"There's something else, that would eliminate the problem completely..." she bit her lip, "but it's probably gonna be way harder than what I already suggested."

"What is it?"

"If you guys solved the rivalry once and for all. Even if you sort things out with Pete, that still leaves Gerard in a difficult situation with his friends, yeah?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Frank to nod in agreement before resuming her line of thought. "You need to think about how they see it too. As far as Brendon is concerned, you're friends with the guy who caused him to lose his _parents,_ Frank. If someone outed Pete and he was kicked out of his own house, how forgiving would you be towards that person?"

Frank shook his head. He hadn't thought too much yet about how Brendon and his friends saw him. This was the first time he'd tried putting himself in their shoes.

"So," Jamia kept going when Frank didn't talk, "in a way, Gerard is in an even more complicated situation with his friends. Unless you find a way to prove Pete didn't out Brendon, it's unlikely they'll settle for a truce with you guys. The way they're acting is only a protective reaction towards Brendon. How do you think he must've felt, being rejected so strongly by the people who raised him? And how do you think Hayley and Ray felt, watching their friend go through something so horrible, thinking it was all caused by someone they thought they could trust? Pete is the one they've placed all that pain on, and they see you and Patrick as two people who've completely disregarded that. They'll likely feel even more betrayed than Pete."

Frank was stunned. Had he been blind for the last two years? He couldn't believe he'd gone all this time without ever realizing how Ray, Brendon, and Hayley felt about him. A lot of their actions started making a lot more sense suddenly. 

"Also - last thing, I promise - Gerard is new, meaning he probably doesn't have the same connection with his friends as they have with each other. He's still fitting in with them. Which means they're probably more likely to reject him if they find out you two have a fling than Pete is. Pete's been your friend for _years._ And you've been through some shit together. For how long have Ray, Brendon, and Hayley known Gerard? A month? And what have they gone through? They went through Brendon's outing together, but _Gerard wasn't there._ You should probably talk to him at some point too." Jamia finally finished, taking a deep breath.

Again, Frank was speechless. How had he failed to consider Gerard's side of the situation? How had he been so blind to everyone else's feelings? Was he stuck in his own head _that_ much? 

"What about Patrick?" He thought out loud. "Will he forgive me for all of this?"

"Frank." She laughed, "Patrick doesn't have a bad bone in his body. That boy is like a Labrador. If he can't find it in his heart to forgive you, you definitely don't deserve to be forgiven."

Although Jamia had only met Patrick once when she went down to Jersey to visit Frank, her reading of him was entirely accurate. Like Patrick, she'd always been very emotionally intelligent and understanding of others' emotions. Frank figured that was why she made such a good analysis of the situation he'd inadvertently found himself in. 

"That's true." He laughed too, before hesitantly asking the only question he had left for Jamia that evening, "Hey Jamia?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think I can get out of this without losing anything?" 

"I don't know." Jamia said sincerely. "But you're gonna have to do something sooner rather than later if you wanna have a chance at it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Just wanna touch you for a minute- maybe three seconds is enough for my heart to quit it."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Next chapter is called Telephone!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> -Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	9. Telephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Post-completion edit: this might be my favorite chapter in the whole fic...]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Just a second, it's my favorite song they're gonna play! And I cannot text you with a drink in my hand, eh?"

Frank spent the next week in a blur of literature, heat, and _Gerard._ Although he didn't notice it, Alejandro had been quiet all week; no notes and no tweets. He couldn't be bothered to even remember his secret admirer - not when he was flying high on Gerard, who was clever, devilish, and _physical._ Although Alejandro was fun and intriguing, he was only a concept for now; Gerard was very much _there,_ with his endless talent and mischievous ideas. 

One fact Frank had learned throughout the week was that Gerard didn't like being forgotten. He liked leaving his mark on everything - mainly, Frank. Not all these marks were physical, however. Gerard seemed like he wanted to ruin certain things for Frank: certain spots, places, and songs. He made sure to attach every memory to tangible things. Gerard was the kind of person who dog-eared and wrote directly on books to make them _his._ He played Christina Aguilera or Madonna in his room whenever Frank was around so Frank could never hear either of their songs without thinking of him. Gerard even made sure to never hook-up somewhere only once, to not only mark the place as theirs, but to permanently attach himself to Frank's memories of said place. 

Frank was very much aware that Gerard could play him like a marionette too. He knew exactly what to do or say to get Frank to do whatever he wanted. Frank thought this was unnecessary, since he liked seeing Gerard happy and whatever he desired, Frank inevitably desired as well. 

One thing Frank had completely disregarded, however, was Jamia's advice. He was so caught up in Gerard that he had forgotten there was an outside world beyond the two of them. He briefly wondered if Patrick could tell there was something different going on, but Frank figured that because this was his new normal, Patrick wasn't noticing anything because nothing was actually _changing._ If Patrick did notice something, he hadn't mentioned it all week, and that was good enough for Frank.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Frank knew he was exhausting his time before Pete inevitably found out about him and Gerard. Jamia's words echoed back to him every now and then, _you need to tell Pete, you need to tell Pete,_ but Frank just couldn't bring himself to fucking _do it._

Lucky for him, Pete seemed to be caught up in the perfectly timed distraction that was Mikey Way, and was barely even awake to reality enough to observe anything about Frank. The two boys had become straight-up inseparable and hadn't given up on their horrendous outfits either. Instead, whenever they weren't together, it was like they were just waiting to be reunited; Mikey and Pete had become like a pair of chopsticks - useless without one another. 

Frank and Patrick were almost sure that the two of them were together now, but the two boys hadn't mentioned anything to them. It was to be implied, though, so Frank and Patrick didn't actually bother _asking._

Friday afternoon at lunch time, Mikey brought up something rather interesting.

"I wanna throw a party!" He exclaimed, slamming his hands onto the table.

Patrick eyed him suspiciously, "... why?"

Mikey and Pete looked at each other, like there was definitely something fishy going on that Patrick and Frank didn't know about, but Mikey only answered, "Just feel like it," and shrugged. 

"Who's gonna be invited?" Frank asked, trying to get more information out of him.

Mikey grinned. "Anyone and everyone who feels like showing up," he said innocently. 

"How are you just gonna invite 'anyone and everyone who feels like showing up'?" Patrick then asked, still looking suspicious as hell.

Mikey suddenly looked pleased with himself - _too pleased,_ in fact. He raised a finger to Patrick and Frank calmly, as if saying _wait a moment._

"Pete." He extended a hand out to Pete, who immediately opened his backpack and shoved a bunch of random trinkets out of the way before pulling out an electric megaphone; how and why he had one in his backpack was beyond anyone else. Pete offered the megaphone to Mikey, who without hesitation, took it in his hands and stepped up onto the table.

"ATTENTION STUDENTS." He announced, drawing the attention of the entire cafeteria right away. Frank and Patrick clearly felt embarrassed as fuck about Mikey's behavior, but Pete was just looking up at him and smiling like an idiot. Mikey continued when he saw he had gathered a significant amount of attention, "THERE WILL BE A PARTY AT MY HOUSE TOMORROW NIGHT. ANYONE AND EVERYONE WHO WANTS TO SHOW UP IS INVITED. EXCEPT FOR FRESHMEN. PLEASE DO NOT ATTEND IF YOU ARE A FRESHMAN. I LIVE AT THAT BORING WHITE HOUSE ACROSS THE 7-ELEVEN BEHIND MAIN STREET."

Frank spotted Gerard across the cafeteria, who was hiding his face in his hands and also appeared to be embarrassed by Mikey. 

"IF YOU LOOK AT THE TABLE WHERE I AM POINTING AT," Mikey then pointed at Gerard, whose head snapped up and looked positively mortified, "YOU WILL SEE MY BROTHER GERARD. THE ONE WHO LOOKS LIKE HE BELONGS IN A SEARS CATALOG FROM THE SIXTIES. IF YOU KNOW HIM YOU ARE ALSO FREE TO SHOW UP. I HOPE SOME OF YOU GUYS CAN COME. THANK YOU." Mikey turned off the megaphone, getting off the table and sitting back down like nothing had happened.

Pete clapped his hands happily like he had just won a prize, but Patrick and Frank were still staring at Mikey in shock, completely speechless.

"So, are you guys coming?" Mikey asked, taking a sip of his orange juice.

Frank replied, "Uh… sure," still looking at Patrick like he'd make the situation any more normal.

"Pat?" Pete turned to Patrick, who suddenly felt a little targeted.

"Of course," Patrick affirmed awkwardly, still looking doubtful of Mikey and Pete's intentions.

Across the cafeteria, Frank looked back up at Gerard only to find he was already looking at him. Neither of the boys looked away, keeping the eye contact with surprising effortlessness. This wasn't like the heavy, charged gaze the two of them usually shared - Frank felt like Gerard wasn't staring at him with the purpose of eliciting any sort of reaction, but rather just for the sake of looking at him. It was almost _easy._

Frank knew right then he wasn't missing that party for anything in the world.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

That afternoon, Frank nearly missed the note on the bottom of his locker before he went home. He was about to shut it, in fact, when his eyes trailed down and spotted a bright yellow post-it sitting innocently by his feet. Before he leaned over to pick it up, he checked his surroundings for anything suspicious like he always did, but again found nothing out of place. When he opened the note, it read:

_"Will I see you at the party?_

_I hope so._

_Regards,  
\- Alejandro"_

Frank already knew he wasn't missing the party, but he felt even more encouraged to go after reading the note. He knew he was going for Gerard, but having someone else paying attention to him like that certainly didn't make him feel _bad._ The note did feel colder than the previous ones, although Frank found himself not caring that much anymore.

Gerard was doing a pretty good job at distracting him.

When he got home that afternoon, Frank ran to his closet and started searching for whatever he could describe as his 'best outfit.' If he knew anything about fashion, he'd confidently pick out an outfit that suited the event he was attending, but Frank _didn't_ know anything about fashion, so he stared at his closet like a lost dog for a few minutes instead. Why were all his clothes black, faded, and ripped? That was supposed to make matching them easier, because black doesn't exactly clash with itself, but it actually made it downright impossible for Frank to choose his _best_ outfit, since all his clothes looked almost identical. Every time he looked at a shirt-pant combo he thought looked great, Frank realized he owned a similar shirt or similar pair of pants that could look potentially better. 

He didn't know if it was purgatory or straight up hell.

Frank started laying out different items onto his bed, beginning with a pair of black ripped jeans he thought made his legs look great. That was an okay starting point. He then took a faded Smashing Pumpkins shirt he liked and layed it out over the jeans. Frank thought the look was pretty great until he remembered a smooth black shirt his mom recently got him. If he paired that with his ripped jeans and his go-to leather jacket, he'd have a more… _mysterious_ look. He reached back into his closet, finding the shirt he had in mind and laying it over the black jeans.

However, Frank then remembered he had a pair of black jeans with a biker chain hooked into it that would probably make a stronger outfit with that shirt. He fished out the pants from his closet, placing it onto his bed along with the various garments he already had taken out.

Frank repeated this process a couple more times before he started feeling like he was losing his mind. At one point, he bunched up a few shirts into his hands and crouched onto the ground, burying his face in the clothes and sobbing in frustration.

It was at that exact moment that his mom walked in, oblivious to Frank's fashion-related disaster.

"Frank, I'm making lasagna for dinner if you wan- oh God, Frank, wh-what on Earth is going on here?" She stuttered, completely bewildered by the sight of Frank surrounded by a pile of clothes and sitting on the ground, sobbing into a bunch of shirts.

Frank answered, despite his voice being muffled by the shirts. "Mikey is throwing a party tomorrow and I can't decide what to wear," he whined.

Linda kneeled down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulders. "Alright, alright. I'll help you." She then grabbed one of his hands, dragging him up. "Come on, let's figure this out."

Frank let himself get dragged, stumbling onto his feet like he was fighting the urge to just flop down again. 

"Alright," his mother started, taking the Smashing Pumpkins shirt he picked out initially, "you're not wearing this."

"Why?"

"It's old and faded. You wanna look sharp and clean for the party, don't you?" She asked, although her tone made it seem much more like a statement than a question. Linda shuffled through the clothes Frank had laid on his bed, tossing some to the left and others to the right. 

"Okay, pick one item you definitely want to wear. Not necessarily from either of the piles." She said when she finished sorting through the clothes. 

Frank thought about his favorite garment and made a decision. "My leather jacket."

"Alright, let's put it in the middle of your bed." Linda walked over to Frank's desk chair where he had put said leather jacket after wearing it the previous day, taking it and placing it between the two clothing piles she had formed. "Now let's see what items look good with your jacket."

Frank looked at the pants he had taken out earlier, the black ones with a biker chain around the belt loops. They'd look pretty dope with the jacket, he thought. The silver in the chain and the jacket zippers would make him look punk as hell. "Those pants, with the chain." He pointed at them, and Linda placed the pants under the jacket already on the bed, stretching them out to help Frank visualize the outfit.

"I think the black shirt I got you would look good here." She said, finding the smooth black shirt Frank had taken out on the pile to her left. Linda held the shirt up to Frank, "what do you think?"

He nodded in approval, "I see it, yeah." It was the shirt he had initially paired with those pants, and his mother making the same choice lowkey made Frank feel validated in his fashion sense. 

Linda placed the shirt over the jacket on the bed, "Now we just have to do shoes and accessories. I think your boots would match the outfit best."

Frank had initially thought of wearing black Converse with that outfit, but as soon as his mother mentioned the black combat boots he usually wore on special occasions, he realized it was a much better choice. "I agree," he said, opening his closet and taking out the boots. 

"Now we just need to decide on accessories. Let's go to the bathroom." That was where Frank kept all his jewelry, and now he felt like it was the time to just fully trust his mother's judgement, as his accessories were even more similar to each other than his clothes. All of Frank's jewelry was silver and chunky - some of his necklaces had black details on the pendants, and some of his rings had designs on them, but they all still looked like they belonged in the same set. 

Linda dug out a chain necklace with a large pendant when they got to the bathroom, "Now, because the outfit we chose is pretty simple and monochrome, we can go heavier on the accessories."

Frank nodded slowly. He totally knew that.

"I think we can even double layer your necklaces..." His mother said, looking around his jewelry drawer and fishing out a simple silver chain without any adornments. She twirled her finger, wordlessly signaling for Frank to turn around, and stepped behind him to put on the chain around his neck. Linda then took the first necklace she had picked out, putting it on looser than the chain so the pendant hung lower. 

"Have a look. What do you think?" She placed her hand around Frank's shoulders, turning him to face the bathroom mirror. 

It wasn't much, but when Frank saw his reflection, it was like his entire look had been elevated. He wasn't yet wearing the outfit they had picked out, but when he tried imagining what the necklaces would look like added into it, he thought it'd look fucking _perfect._ His mother was officially a wizard. 

"I wanna add some rings," he smiled at her through the mirror. 

"Go wild," Linda smiled back, letting go of his shoulders.

Frank picked out his favorite rings, slipping them onto his fingers randomly and extending his hands out, enjoying the way they made them feel. Although many people considered jewelry and makeup girly things, Frank felt his toughest when wearing his eyeliner and cool punk accessories. He figured that was one thing he had in common with Gerard - both of them felt most empowered by their traditionally feminine qualities. 

"I think we're done," Linda sang, sounding content with herself. 

"Yeah, thanks for saving me from an emotional breakdown over there." Frank laughed, remembering how distressed he had been earlier.

"No problem. All you needed was a woman's touch."

"Mother, I think we already went over the fact that I am gay," Frank joked.

His mom crossed her arms and smiled at him. "And how's that going for you, Frankie?"

Frank gasped. "Ouch. Low blow, mom," he said, trying to contain his laughter.

"You'd think that my gay son would be capable of picking out an outfit on his own, or at least recognize one of Madonna's most iconic songs." 

Frank gasped again, this time a lot more ashamed. _"Gerard told you that?"_

Linda hummed, "Mhm, he told me you couldn't even recognize Like A Virgin. That's one of the most iconic pop songs of all time, Frank! Gerard actually told me you're the worst gay he's ever met."

Frank always knew he was bad at being gay, but hearing it from his own mom hit a little different. 

"The worst part is that I can't even argue against that," he sighed in defeat, removing his rings and setting them aside on the bathroom sink. 

"I know," his mom smoothed out his hair, smiling fondly at him through the mirror. "I'm gonna go back to making dinner. Come down in an hour." 

"Alright," Frank said, suddenly feeling way more excited for the party than he had felt earlier.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

When Frank got to the Way residence on Saturday evening, he was feeling like _hot shit,_ to put it in simple terms. His hair was right, his outfit was right, but most importantly - his _attitude_ was right. Even his eyeliner was smudged to perfection. Heck, even his _sleep_ the previous night was right, which was a gem in and of itself.

In a nutshell, Frank felt like he was about to have a good night.

As he approached the front door, Frank felt glad he got a ride with Patrick and Pete; the Ways' driveway was packed with cars, and he definitely wouldn't have been able to park on his own. The boys didn't manage to find a parking space - which Patrick found deeply unnerving - and they eventually settled for parking at the nearby 7-Eleven and walking back to the Ways'. 

When the three boys actually walked in, they noticed the inside of the house was even more packed than the driveway. There were people everywhere, many of whom Frank recognized as juniors. _How popular was Mikey Way?_ he briefly wondered, momentarily shocked by how many people had shown up to a party organized on such short notice. Although the house was crowded as hell, Frank's eyes immediately locked with Gerard's, who always seemed to stand out to him like a yellow shirt inside his closet would - if he owned one. 

Even though Frank had mastered the art of pretending he didn't know Gerard in public throughout the week, that evening Gerard had _definitely_ knocked it out of the park and Frank's eyes were just _stuck._ Frank thought he had outdone himself with his outfit, but Gerard had fucking _annihilated_ everyone else present. At one point, Frank was very well aware of the fact that he was staring, but he simply couldn't _not_ stare. Gerard caught him and simply smiled to himself like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He wasn't dressed in his usual pastel hues. Instead, Gerard was wearing a short red plaid skirt, combined with a white button-up and a red tie. The top two buttons had been undone, and the tie was only loosely hanging from his neck, like he had rushed to get dressed. Gerard had also ditched his usual soft lip gloss and instead opted for a bright red lipstick to match his outfit. When Frank looked down to check out his legs - he knew it was rude to just check someone out like that, but he couldn't stop himself - he saw Gerard had also put on a pair of white translucent stockings, hooked to matching white garters that disappeared under his skirt. 

What the _fuck._

When Frank's eyes met Gerard's again, he saw Gerard was giggling lightheartedly, as if he'd been reading Frank's mind the whole time. That wasn't too far of a stretch, as Frank generally wore his emotions bright and clear on his face - chances were Gerard really _was_ reading his mind. Gerard seemed pleased with what he saw too, making a point of slowly looking Frank up and down before smirking straight at him. 

Frank suddenly felt a sharp pain on his right side, and it took him a few seconds to process the fact that Patrick had just elbowed him to snap him out of his daze. When he woke to reality, Frank turned to his left, only to realize Pete was absorbed into a conversation with Mikey, blissfully unaware of his interaction with Gerard. 

Thank God for Mikey Way, right? 

Right as he started paying attention to Mikey, the boy turned his attention away from Pete and towards Patrick and Frank, placing a hand on their shoulders. 

"There's a game of truth or dare going on in the living room if you guys wanna join," he suggested. Patrick and Frank looked at each other, shrugging indifferently before looking back at Mikey and nodding. 

"But wait!" Mikey spoke again, alert like he'd just realized that he'd forgotten something. "Let's get drinks first." 

As usual, Frank wasn't in a position to say no.

The boys followed Mikey into the kitchen, where someone had lined up a wide assortment of drinks. There were so many drinks that it was borderline suspicious, but Frank decided not to question how the Ways had gotten so much alcohol on such short notice. Instead, he reached out for a bottle of vodka, filling a red solo cup about halfway through and topping it off with ice. Frank wasn't really picky about his alcohol; he cared more about the end result of getting drunk than his journey there. Frank could be shockingly pragmatic at times. 

Patrick opted to just grab a beer, while Pete mixed some vodka with some… _Gatorade?_ Was that legal? Frank felt like that shouldn't be legal. In fact, he was about to tell Pete to just grab a Smirnoff Ice when he saw the boy reach for a Redbull, topping off his cup with the energy drink. Alright, that _definitely_ wasn't legal. When he looked over at Mikey, Frank saw that he seemed to be mixing the exact same cocktail, which made Frank seriously consider calling an ambulance on the two boys. That had to be some sort of atomic bomb on your system. They seemed totally unbothered, however, raising their cups and saying "Cheers!"

Patrick and Frank raised their drinks too, cheering with Mikey and Pete before finally having some of their own drinks. Frank always thought the first sip of alcohol was the worst one; as he drank more and more, the drink gradually lost its flavor, but the initial swig burned his throat like sweet poison every time without fail. He continued drinking, taking a second and then a third sip, feeling pleased as he started getting used to the strong taste.

"Let's go then?" Mikey gestured towards the other boys to follow him, walking into the living room where Frank hadn't noticed people were standing in a circle - including Gerard, who stood between Hayley and Brendon, sipping on a drink of his own. Mikey slipped between two people and asked them to scoot over so the other boys could join the circle, appearing indifferent to the slight disturbance he was causing. Patrick, Pete, and Frank stepped into the circle, tuning into the game. 

"Dare," Hayley said, appearing oddly calm considering she had just given another teenager the power to tell her what to do. 

"I dare you..." Kellin trailed off and thought for a few seconds before giving her a dare, "... to pick someone in this circle to kiss." 

She shrugged like she thought the dare was a little lame, but still complied. Hayley looked across the circle at someone, maintaining eye contact for a few seconds and smiling. "I pick Avril," she announced loud and clear. 

Frank thought that was an interesting choice. When they were friends, Hayley had made it pretty clear that gender was rather irrelevant to her when it came to her romantic interests, but she seemed to have grown more comfortable in her sexuality in the years they'd spent apart. Gerard, Brendon, and Ray didn't seem surprised by this choice at all, so Frank figured there must've been some history behind Hayley and Avril that he wasn't aware of. 

The two girls did as they were bid, meeting in the centre of the circle for a kiss. It wasn't much, and was over pretty quickly, but Frank saw the way they exchanged looks as they parted. The kiss was too… _casual,_ he thought. There wasn't the usual hesitation or anxiety of a first kiss, so Frank figured the girls were either drunk or had some sort of thing. Before he could figure it out, however, someone called his name.

"Frank." 

It was Hayley Williams. And she looked like a woman with a plan. _Fuck._

Hayley certainly knew there was something between him and Gerard - there was no way she didn't. Not only had she read it directly on him weeks ago, but she'd definitely read it on _Gerard_ from being around him all day. Gerard wasn't particularly easy to read, but Hayley Williams was far too clever to just hide secrets from. Being stared at by Hayley was like having your soul x-rayed.

"Truth or dare?" She asked, tilting her head to the side in fake innocence.

What the hell should he pick? What was the most dangerous thing she had on him? 

Information. It was information. That was the worst thing she could reveal about him. If she asked Frank anything about Gerard, she could easily expose him as a liar if he denied anything. He couldn't go with 'truth,' which only left one option. 

"Dare," Frank replied, not really feeling like he had a choice in the matter. 

Hayley seemed displeased with this decision, because she frowned slightly upon hearing it. She didn't seem willing to go easy on him regardless. Her face suddenly lit up, like she had just gotten an idea, and Frank felt like he was fucked no matter what.

Hayley reached behind Ray, picking up a bottle of Absolut vodka and a shot glass from an end table. "Do three shots of vodka," she ordered, handing him the bottle and the shot glass with a smile. 

Yeah. Frank was fucked. Although three shots of vodka didn't seem like a gargantuan amount of alcohol, Frank was small. It was a big amount for someone his size, especially all at once. He grabbed the items from Hayley's hands, noticing some people around him wincing in sympathy, which just made him feel _great._ Frank filled the shot glass, stopping about a quarter of an inch off the rim.

"Nuh-uh!" Hayley laughed, "the whole glass, Frankie boy. All three times." 

_Seriously?_ She was gonna make him do that? He sighed annoyedly, briefly looking over at Gerard, who seemed deeply entertained by the scene. Frank filled the rest of the glass, accidentally spilling a few drops as he raised it to his lips. He downed the first shot unceremoniously; Frank just wanted to get it over with. Having some vodka in preparation made it easier to down this brand as it had less of a taste, and Frank found himself pleasantly surprised with how easy the shot went down.

This made him feel braver about the next two shots, and he found himself excited for the second one. It went down even better than the first one, and Frank momentarily worried about potentially becoming an alcoholic someday. He knew he had not only a predisposition, but addictive tendencies too. However, in that moment, Frank couldn't get himself to _care._ He filled the third and last shot before he could think about it too much, raising to his lips like a benediction in favor of mental silence. 

The third shot didn't go down as easy as the first two, but it still wasn't as bad as Frank had expected any of them to go. As he put down the shot glass, multiple people started cheering for him, and Frank was briefly proud of himself for downing those shots like a pro. He then remembered that he had to actually pick someone for the next round, and decided to not be an asshole and fuck anybody over.

"Mikey." 

He seemed shocked to have been chosen by Frank, but seemed eager to play along. Mikey thought for a few seconds before choosing, "Truth," looking at Frank expectantly as he waited for his question.

Frank asked the first thing that came to his mind, "What the hell is going on with you and Pete?"

"Oh… we're like… a thing." Mikey shrugged, glancing over at Pete, who nodded in agreement. None of the two boys seemed ashamed or embarrassed by this fact, and Mikey just scanned the circle for a few seconds before making his pick. 

"Billie," he said, making Billie Joe look up at him. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Billie answered without hesitation.

Mikey seemed to have his question ready to go, because right away he asked, "Have you ever hooked up anywhere at school? If so, where?"

This question drew a few intrigued _ooohs_ from the crowd, and Billie clearly blushed, making the answer to the first part of the question very obvious before he could even open his mouth. 

"Yeah..." he mumbled, clearly flustered. "At the principal's office."

There was a collective gasp heard around the room, and an abrupt wave of people asking Billie for more details flooded the air, the game almost completely forgotten in mere seconds. Billie stretched his arms out, moving them up and down as if trying to calm down the crowd. "My round is over, time to move on!" He exclaimed, evidently trying to draw attention away from himself. 

Billie froze for a few seconds, and Patrick leaned in to whisper to Frank, "Just watch, he's gonna try to have someone do something really big so people will forget about him."

Sure enough, Patrick was right, because Billie looked like a lightbulb had been lit above his head. 

"Gerard!" He picked, smiling like a plotting idiot.

"Dare," Gerard replied without even waiting for Billie to ask 'truth or dare'.

Billie's shit-eating grin somehow got even wider, and Frank immediately knew Gerard was about to do something crazy.

"I dare you to pick one of Pete's friends to give a lap dance to."

Holy shit. Frank suddenly felt like he really had taken three shots of vodka. 

He thought this dare would anger or at least embarrass Gerard, but the boy didn't look bothered at all. Actually, Gerard looked just as interested as the crowd, that had all but gone into a frenzy at the idea of one of _Brendon's_ friends having to go through such a sensual act alongside one of _Pete's_ friends. The rivalry was well known within their school, and it was definitely not a coincidence that Billie had gone with this specific dare. Although the crowd was going absolutely wild, Frank could barely hear any noise at all - the shock from potentially having to get a _lap dance_ from _Gerard_ in front of _all his classmates_ was enough to pull him right back into his head. He couldn't tell if he felt too drunk or too sober to handle the situation. 

When Gerard spoke, he seemed to have accepted the dare without any qualms or worries. "I just pick between Patrick, Pete, and Frank?" 

"Yeah, whichever one you want. I'm not gonna be _that_ mean to you," Billie laughed, clearly feeling like he had just picked one hell of a dare.

Frank had no idea what to think of the fact Gerard would have to choose one of them. He was scared of getting chosen, he was scared of _not_ getting chosen, he was scared of virtually _anything_ that would follow within the next few minutes. 

Luckily, Gerard solved that problem for him, because he stared straight at Frank and answered, "I choose Frankie." 

Frank felt like his heart was about to drop out of his ass, but still found the strength to nod at Gerard, accepting to partake in the dare like he had a choice. Through the buzz of the crowd, Frank managed to hear Mikey next to him, who did not sound too pleased with what was about to go down.

"Alright, I'm gonna go take a piss for the next ten minutes," he announced, shuffling away from the circle and making his way upstairs. 

Although Frank was all but frozen in place, Gerard wasn't, and he directed some people to bring over a chair from the dinner table. He took the chair in his hands and placed it a few inches into the circle, the seat facing Frank straight on. Gerard tapped his fingers on the chair for a few moments, like he was planning how things were about to go down, and Frank became absolutely sure of the fact when Gerard gave him a pleased yet calculating smile. 

"Can I choose a song?" He asked Billie innocuously. 

Billie shrugged, like he didn't really care about this part of the dare. "Sure." He walked over to a nearby music box, "What song do you want?"

Gerard bit his lip, like he was trying to stop himself from grinning. "Gimme Lady Marmalade by Christina Aguilera."

 _Hold on._ Frank recognized that name. Where did he know that song from again? He was sure he did indeed know it. He definitely knew the song from Gerard, but why did that name stand out to him so much? Frank didn't have time to figure it out though, because Gerard was standing behind the chair, fingers crooked and signaling for him to approach. Before he could move on his own, a firm pair of hands on his back pushed him straight into the circle, right within Gerard's reach. The boy didn't wait for Frank to process the situation, grabbing his shirt and forcing him to sit down. Frank gripped onto the edges of the chair, holding on for dear life.

The song started blaring throughout the living room, and a gentle hand in his hair launched Frank firmly away from his thoughts and into reality. This was happening. He made a brief note to himself about recognizing the melody of the song, but it somehow seemed slower than he recalled; Frank didn't know if it had been deliberately slowed down to have a sexier vibe, or if the alcohol he had was just making him slower. Regardless, he couldn't deliberate on the music for long, because the hand in his hair started moving down, and the fact he couldn't _see_ Gerard made Frank's heart pound even faster. 

When the hand reached his neck, it was joined by another on the opposite side, making equal symmetrical movements. They continued their journey downwards, every inch making Frank increasingly nervous until they froze right above his belt. Frank could feel Gerard's breath on his ear and focused on that over the hands near his crotch. He didn't dare look down - instead closing his eyes and trying to meditate, focusing his attention everywhere but the present. Gerard seemed to notice this, however, because right as Frank took a deep relaxing breath, he scratched his hands all the way up Frank's chest, almost making him choke on the air he was inhaling. The nails dragging up his body made Frank's eyes snap wide open, his lungs still stuck on the breath he failed to take.

Frank thought Gerard was done tormenting him when the sharp claws on his chest were replaced with a singular hand on his shoulder. He felt the hand twist around his shirt before he saw Gerard enter his field of view, hand still hooked there as he moved to stand right in front of him. When their eyes met, Frank couldn't see a hint of fear on Gerard's face.

Much on the contrary, in fact. Gerard looked _alive,_ like he was feeling the same power trip Frank had felt the time he shoved Gerard onto that locker. However, unlike him, Gerard didn't look like he resented the feeling at all. He looked like he was ready to indulge in it, letting it consume him completely without any hesitation. 

He smiled at Frank, his usual devilish grin, and it was then that Frank realized: 

Gerard had only just _begun_ tormenting him. 

Gerard turned around, facing the crowd but still only a few inches away from Frank. It was then that he truly started dancing to the music, swaying his hips and running his hands over his body like he was feeling himself up. Gerard didn't miss a single beat of the song, and Frank could almost see the amount of times he had probably danced along to this song alone in his room. He was hypnotized by the boy in front of him, eyes glued to Gerard's skirt, the fabric moving right along with him like an extension of his body. 

After an unknown measure of time, Gerard seemed like he wanted to take things up a notch, because he turned back around to face Frank and grabbed both his knees, forcibly spreading them apart. Frank was about to wonder what the fuck he was doing when Gerard leaned over, placing one of his knees onto the chair, right between Frank's separated thighs. He was so close that Frank could feel Gerard's breathing on his nose, calm and steady compared to his own desperate gulps for air.

Frank looked up to meet Gerard's gaze, and noticed Gerard's expression hadn't changed since their eyes last met. He looked sly and mischievous, like he had a long plan ahead. Frank thought he must've been terrified by this, and he didn't know if it was the alcohol or Gerard's mind-cleansing presence, but instead Frank only found himself excited, fully thrilled to see what Gerard still had in store for him. 

He then felt a hand on him again, this time flat above his heart. On a particularly strong beat of the song, the hand pushed on his chest, making Frank's back hit the splat of the chair in a harsh _thud._ The hand stayed there, pinning him to the chair, and another trailed up his neck, coming to rest right under his chin. Frank closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle touch before the hand under his chin suddenly clenched, gripping right where Frank's jaw met his neck. It pushed up slightly, forcing Frank to look right back up at Gerard.

Gerard's thumb moved up to cover his mouth, his hand still capturing Frank's chin in a powerful grasp, but his thumb now resting tentatively over Frank's bottom lip, pulling his lips just slightly apart. 

Frank knew his possessiveness was one of his biggest flaws. He often made the mistake of acting like others belonged to him, exploding in jealous outbursts in fear of losing control. However, as Gerard held Frank hostage in his iron grip, both of them knew that in that moment, Gerard fucking owned him. Every inch of Frank, from the nails on his toes to the hairs on his head, was completely and utterly captivated by Gerard. 

The dancing boy seemed content with this and started sensually drifting down, lower and lower until he rested on the floor, kneeling before Frank. This drew loud cheers from the crowd, and Gerard seemed like was almost _thriving_ on the adoration, briefly closing his eyes to enjoy the praise. When he opened his eyes again, he met Frank's stare once more, shooting him the exact same smile he had that day in the janitor's closet. Gerard placed his hands on Frank's knees like he had done earlier, but this time let them drift upwards, scratching up his thighs teasingly. One of Gerard’s hands wrapped itself around Frank’s wrist, his delicate fingers stretching Frank’s hand open. He was about to start wondering what the hell Gerard was up to when Gerard opened his mouth, taking two of Frank’s fingers into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the digits, making the crowd roar in pure unadulterated excitement. 

Frank was absolutely mesmerized by the lewd image before him, almost feeling like he shouldn’t be allowed to look at something so sinful. Gerard never broke the eye contact he and Frank held, staring straight at him as he gave his fingers one last long lick before letting go of Frank’s hand entirely, barely noticing it go back to clenching the edges of the chair.

Gerard leaned back onto his hands, spreading his own thighs to sit more comfortably on the ground. But soon enough his hands were on the move again, instead trailing down his own thighs as the threw his head back, slowly swaying to a particularly long note on the song. Frank's eyes fixed onto Gerard's exposed neck, dark purple blotches just slightly peeking through the makeup he had clearly applied before the party. Frank's eyes then moved to Gerard's legs and immediately locked onto the dark marks on the inside of his upper thighs, only catching a glimpse as Gerard's skirt slipped up slightly. He remembered how he had caused all of those marks, and the usual possessiveness that lived inside his chest woke up like it had just been shaken awake.

Frank knew right away that Gerard was putting on one show for the crowd, and a completely different show specifically for him. He was moving along to the music for everyone else, but the subtle reminders of their previous hookups were references for Frank and Frank only. 

Gerard was flipping around the power dynamics between them like a light switch, and Frank was high on the feeling, still an addict to the rush. When Gerard threw his head forward, their gazes met once again, and Frank noticed his pupils were fully blown out, the usual green of his eyes replaced by a tempestuous black ocean. 

Soon, he was on the move once again, swinging back up slowly but surely. Frank didn't get much of a warning before Gerard turned back around to face the crowd, but this time falling backwards, straight onto Frank's lap in a move that made the crowd cheer louder than ever before. Frank's hands subconsciously clenched tighter around the ends of the chair, where they refused to leave their place. 

Gerard was still swaying his hips to the beat of the song, and this time the motion was softer but more sensual and deliberate, like he was truly trying to torture Frank with every move. Gerard gripped his own knees and pushed them apart again, then trailed his hands up his own body, leaning backwards until his back met the surface of Frank's chest. He leaned his head over Frank's shoulder, just like he had done that day in front of his vanity. Gerard's hands continued their journey upwards all the way to Frank's neck, lacing behind his scalp in a move that perfectly mirrored the first time the two of them had hooked up.

Frank suddenly remembered where he knew the song from. It was the song Gerard had played for him in his bedroom the day they first hooked up. 

It was then that Frank realized the full extent of Gerard's plan.

He was trying to give Frank as many sex flashbacks as possible. 

That clever bastard.

When the thought occurred to him, Frank almost wheezed from the shock of the realization, the only thing keeping him in place being the physical weight of Gerard's body over his. Frank willed every blood cell flowing through his veins to stay in the upper half of his body, noticing that the song was approaching its end and not wishing for a very awkward moment when he inevitably got up. Gerard had slowed down the movement of his hips, instead just softly running his fingers through Frank's hair in a manner that was almost comforting. 

The song reached a halt, the room erupting into a mix of various praising shouts and waves of applause. Frank felt like he had just sobered the hell up, even though he'd taken three shots of vodka and multiple sips of tequila not twenty minutes prior.

Gerard was the first to speak when the roar of the crowd died down. 

"So, Brendon, truth or dare?"

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"What the hell was that?!" Pete asked once he successfully managed to drag Frank upstairs into an empty bedroom. He sounded mad, which was _not_ good.

"We were playing truth or dare," Frank shrugged, trying to appear as innocent as possible.

Pete crossed his arms, "You're gonna pretend like you didn't enjoy every second of that? Like you didn't enjoy it when one of Brendon's friends _grinded_ on you?!" He was raising his voice with every word, and by the time he finished speaking, Pete was almost shouting. 

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? I'm only one man, Pete. Tell me you'd _hate_ getting a lap dance from a guy in a kinky outfit like that."

"It's..." Pete spoke through grinded teeth, taking a deep breath to calm himself down before continuing, "... not about that, Frank. God, are you fucking _daft?"_

"Pete..."

He interrupted Frank before he could say anything more, "Are you fucking him, Frank? Sure seemed like you fucking _wanted_ to back there." Pete was fully shouting at this point, his face red in anger like Frank had never seen before.

This was it. This was the moment Jamia had warned him about. Frank had two options here: he could lie, and get Pete to calm down, or he could tell the truth and rip the Band-Aid right off. He had to make a decision quick. 

"No," he said, knowing he had made the wrong choice as soon as the word came out of his mouth. 

Pete took another deep breath, appearing to have calmed down slightly from that answer. "Alright. Just… whatever, Frank." Before Frank could fuck up even more, Pete stormed off, slamming the door shut behind him. 

The door was barely shut for a second when another face made itself present. 

"I just saw Pete storm off from here, what's going on?" 

It was Mikey. Frank sighed in relief - thank God, someone he didn't have to lie to. Ever since he was a kid, Frank hated lying. He just sucked at it; Frank knew his emotions were always present on his face, which made him terribly insecure whenever he lied, feeling like people could see right through him instead. 

"He asked about Gerard," Frank groaned, flopping down onto the bed, "he was pissed off."

Mikey chuckled, "Yeah, I could tell," he said, taking a seat next to him. 

Frank was about to ask why Mikey didn't go after Pete when he remembered Pete preferred to be by himself whenever he needed to cool off. He was the kind of guy who needed to be left the hell alone when mad. Frank didn't know how Mikey already knew this fact, but it seemed like a silent understanding between the two of them. 

"Mikey?" 

Said boy hummed in question, "Hm?" 

"Why'd you throw this party?" Frank asked, having wondered that ever since he heard the party was happening. 

Mikey gave him a small tight-lipped smile that made it further into his eyes than his mouth. "Pete."

Frank frowned in confusion, "What do you mean?" 

"You see, I've always made friends easily. I'm just an easy going kinda person, I guess. When I started getting close to Pete, I noticed a lot of people didn't seem to like him because of his reputation. So, I thought that if I threw a party with a bunch of people who liked me, they'd like Pete too if they saw him with me," Mikey stated calmly. 

"Wow… that's..." Frank paused for a few seconds, searching for the right word and only finding one, "... incredible."

Mikey shrugged like it was no big deal. 

Frank spoke again when Mikey stayed silent, "You guys seem to have it so… easy. How?"

"Do you really want to know, Frank?"

"What do you mean?"

Mikey grinned at him like he was finally getting to say something he'd been waiting ages to say. "Since when do either you or Gerard want easy?" 

Frank knew Mikey had a point, because he had known this from the start himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Stop calling, stop calling, I don't wanna think anymore!"  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Did you guys like that lap dance scene? The whole time I was writing it I kept thinking "omg they're gonna love this one" ahahahha
> 
> I know it's my story and I wrote it, but I'm really digging Gerard's power bottom energy in this fic. I really digged this chapter too. No flex, but I really aced it with this chapter. It's actually the longest one so far.
> 
> Next chapter is called Venus!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	10. Venus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Goddess of love, please take me to your leader!"

Frank ran his fingers over the bruising red marks on his neck and chest, checking them out in the mirror at the vanity. The ones on his neck stood alone, but the marks on his chest were fading into the existing purple blotches placed on his skin throughout the week. When he withdrew his hand, he noticed some red seemed to have seeped off onto his fingers; he grinned to himself. Frank had trails of red lipstick smudged all over his upper body. He was the screaming image of a 'morning after.'

It was indeed the morning after the party, and the boys had all decided to crash at the Ways' as no one was sober enough to drive that night. Frank and Gerard had both stayed in Gerard's bedroom, while Pete crashed with Mikey and Patrick had been the first one to fall asleep up in the living room when the guests left. 

Pete had drunken himself into sleep after his argument with Frank, who felt slightly guilty about not checking up on his friend until hours later when Mikey asked to help him drag Pete up into his room. After Mikey decided that he'd stay with Pete until he inevitably woke up sick, Frank and Gerard decided to take advantage of the fact they essentially had the house to themselves. It was now sunrise, and the two of them hadn't gone to bed yet. That was how Frank found himself staring at his own reflection, slightly panicking about the vicious red marks all over his neck and chest. He heard a ruffling of sheets behind him, but he just figured Gerard had fallen asleep and went back to examining the new splotches of red on his skin.

"Shut up."

"But I wasn't saying anything," Frank snapped out of his daze, slightly startled by Gerard's sudden voice. 

The other boy groaned, "Yeah, but I can hear you overthinking and it's annoying as hell, so shut the fuck up."

Gerard wasn't wrong, like he usually wasn't. Frank was _very_ worried about the hickies on his neck that were bound to darken within the next few hours. He didn't mind the marks down his chest - or even the ones above his hips - as he could easily cover them with clothing. However, the ones on his neck were bound to be a problem, as Frank didn't own makeup like Gerard and wasn't fashionable enough to rock a scarf or a turtleneck without drawing suspicion.

"Did you have to go so hard on my neck?" He asked Gerard who was across the room, now sat up in bed and watching Frank through the mirror. 

Gerard seemed to think this was funny because he giggled and gave an apology that didn't seem genuine at all. "Sorry, Frankie. I got carried away."

This prompted Frank to laugh too. "Yeah, I remember. _I was there,"_ he snarked Gerard just like he'd done to Frank countless times. "Just… I don't know how I'm gonna cover these up."

"You can borrow some of my makeup," Gerard offered casually.

Frank turned around away from the vanity to face him straight on. "I'm pretty sure that if I borrow your makeup, I'm gonna look like a corpse," he sassed, "you're pale as the fucking dead, dude."

Gerard grabbed a pillow from his bed and launched it across the room at Frank, "Shut up, you illiterate twat," he joked, giggling as Frank caught the pillow and threw it right back at him. 

"Hey! Have you seen my neck? Not only are you pale as a vampire, but you bite like one too!" Frank shrieked as Gerard threw the pillow at him again, still playful but a little harder this time. He grabbed the pillow off the floor where it landed and got up from his seat at the vanity, walking over to Gerard and holding the pillow up like a weapon.

Both boys were laughing like idiots at each other, and Gerard raised his arms defensively as Frank crawled onto the bed and on top of him, still holding the pillow up. He started swatting Gerard with it, who erupted into bouts of laughter with every strike. Gerard reached up and tried to snatch the pillow from Frank, but the boy held on tightly to the soft material, and soon the two of them were wrestling each other like kids. 

"Get off of me, you stinky ogre man!" Gerard seemed to almost have tears in his eyes from laughing so hard, "Didn't you have a hickey problem you needed to solve?"

Frank pretended to be scandalized, "Yeah, a hickey problem _you_ caused!" he said lightheartedly. 

"Urgh, just rub some ice on your neck!" Gerard remarked, "Moron."

"Oh, you're not only an art and English genius, but a biology one too!" Frank teased playfully. 

"No, Frankie, believe it or not, I am capable of using the internet. And _someone_ in the past gave me hickey troubles before I started retaliating," Gerard teased back.

Frank gasped, "Shade!"

"Did you just say 'shade'?!" Gerard gasped back, "You know that's gay slang, huh? I'm surprised you know any gay slang terms at all." 

Frank yanked the pillow out of Gerard's hands and whacked him with it, "You know I _am_ gay, right?"

Gerard sassed him back, "No, Frank, that fact did _not_ occur to me when your dick was in my ass a few hours ago. Fucking imbecile."

Frank gaped at him, stunned by his sudden vulgarity. "Jesus Christ."

"You need him," Gerard retorted without missing a beat.

The other boy crossed his arms, "Will you ever run out of sassy remarks?"

Gerard scrunched up his face, as if he was offended by the very idea. "Absolutely not. Never," he said, suddenly serious. 

Frank was in no way disappointed by this answer. In fact, he'd grown to find Gerard's sassiness oddly endearing. It was endearing in the same way his actions were. Sure, a part of Frank found it terrifying because it was unpredictable, but another part of him found it new and exciting. Frank never knew what Gerard was about to say or do - and that was _thrilling._

"Hey Frankie?" Gerard called out, seeming like a random thought had just occurred to him. 

"Yeah?" Frank gently climbed off of Gerard, settling down next to him.

The boys were now both laying down, facing each other. "When's your birthday?"

"Halloween." Frank smiled, because yeah - he knew his birthday was cool.

"That's so fucking cool!" Gerard vocalized Frank's exact thoughts. "And it's coming up in like..." he paused, doing the mental math. "Two weeks... I think. What are you gonna do?"

"My mom's gonna give me money for a piercing, but besides that, probably just hang out with the guys." Frank readjusted himself on the bed, resting his head on his arm.

Gerard bit his lip, "You're getting a piercing?!" He scanned Frank's face, "Where?"

Frank shivered slightly under the gaze; it was like Gerard was undressing him with his eyes even though neither one of them was dressed at all. In hindsight, it reminded Frank of the day they first met - Gerard seemed to make him feel oddly exposed no matter if they were clothed or not. Frank didn't know if he felt hot or cold. 

"Uh..." He considered it for a few seconds, "I'm still deciding between my nose and my lip."

Gerard fixed his stare on Frank's bottom lip, like he was imagining what the piercing would look like on him. He kept his eyes there for a few seconds, in which Frank swore his heart was about to either freeze or burst into flames. 

"I think a ring right..." Gerard then reached out, touching the tip of his index finger gently on the left corner of Frank's bottom lip, _"here_ would be perfect."

"Yeah?" Frank found himself smiling unintentionally at the tender touch, and Gerard moved his hand to cradle Frank's chin softly. Frank thought the moment was strangely romantic, since the topic of discussion regarded what part of his body should get cosmetically impaled. 

"Yeah, although you can't suck dick with any oral piercing until it's healed," Gerard said matter-of-factly.

Frank couldn't help it. That was such an out-of-place factoid considering the romantic tension filling the air that he burst out into laughter. "Why do you know that?"

Gerard smiled genuinely but didn't laugh along with Frank. His gaze was still strongly fixed on his lips, like he hadn't stopped imagining what the piercing would look like. "I love piercings and tattoos. If I wasn't so terrified of needles I'd probably be covered."

"When's your birthday?" Frank wondered offhandedly, "Are you eighteen already?"

Gerard withdrew his hand from Frank's face, instead adjusting to mirror the position Frank was laying in, making eye contact with him again. "Yeah, my birthday's on April 9th."

"What did you do this year?"

Gerard closed his eyes briefly and giggled, like he was remembering something fun. "You know, the drinking age in France is eighteen."

Frank smiled knowingly, "So, you're basically telling me you went clubbing in Paris for your eighteenth birthday? That makes my plans to get pierced and hang out with my friends sound borderline pathetic."

"Wow, Frank."

"...what?" His smile died down in confusion. 

Gerard grinned, holding back a laugh. "'Borderline' and 'pathetic' are both pretty advanced words for you."

Frank sat up and grabbed a pillow from the bed, whacking Gerard with it. "Shut up. Let's go fix my hickey problem," he said, proceeding to stand up off the bed and check himself out in the mirror again. 

He didn't know what he expected when he looked at his reflection the second time. The dark marks on his body obviously were still there, along with the remnants of lipstick on his skin, starting under his chin and only stopping at his boxers. Gerard got up too, and as Frank looked at both of their reflections, he noticed the two of them looked like a matching set - almost like Mikey and Pete. 

Strange. Strange but interesting, he thought.

Gerard's skin was covered in purple blotches as well, but some of them were already fading into greens and yellows. Because he was so pale, it was easy to date the bruises on his skin; although Frank didn't need this, because he remembered exactly how and when he had inflicted each one of them. Gerard also had the ghost of red lipstick still on his mouth, although some of it bled slightly into his cheek, like he had lazily dragged it along his face. It was funny to see the two of them - who usually looked so different - look so oddly similar. They were both wearing black boxers too, which only made them look even more like two parts of a matching set. Frank thought he could get used to mornings like this. 

"Shouldn't we get dressed or something?" He wondered out loud.

Gerard snickered, "No one else is up besides us, Frankie. It's like… the asscrack of dawn."

Frank thought that was an interesting way to phrase it. "Are you sure?"

This question made Gerard laugh slightly, "Did you even watch Pete last night? I think he drank himself into a coma, dude. Mikey already knows about us and I think we can talk Patrick into not snitching. We're fine."

He was right. Pete had consumed a truly concerning amount of alcohol at the party. He was also right about Patrick and Mikey. Gerard was just right in general. 

"Alright," Frank said, convinced. "Let's put some ice on my neck then go to sleep."

The two boys made their way out of the basement and dragged themselves up the stairs. They were positively exhausted - after all, it really had been a long night and although it was already sunrise, neither one of them had gotten a blink of sleep. Frank noted that Gerard seemed more tired than him; he figured that was due to the fact he was used to sleepless nights by now, while Gerard only seemed to do well between the hours of dawn and midday when he had his coffee - regardless of how well he had slept. 

When they arrived upstairs, they paused briefly to check if Patrick was still asleep. Sure enough, Frank heard the familiar sound of his soft snoring and signaled for Gerard to follow him into the kitchen. 

They froze into place once they stepped onto the cold ceramic tiles.

On the other side of the kitchen, standing by the coffee machine, was Pete - up and fully awake. He faced the machine and pressed a few buttons grumpily, causing some coffee to fall into the mug he held tightly in his hands before turning around, facing Frank and Gerard head on.

Pete's expression immediately changed. His entire face fell, going from pleased to disappointed in a split second. For a few moments, the three boys just stood there in shock, staring at each other and processing the situation. Frank was fully expecting an explosion, but when he didn't get one, he became even more terrified of what Pete would say when he eventually opened his mouth. 

It was then that Frank realized - that moment up in Mikey's bedroom last night wasn't what Jamia had warned him about. 

_This_ was the moment she'd warned him about. 

"You're up," Frank said before he could stop himself, noticing it was a stupid thing to say right as the words came out of his mouth.

"Yes," Pete replied, his tone cold and apathetic, "I am."

Uh oh. That was not good. Somewhere deep down Frank knew apathy was worse than anger. Gerard was still frozen next to him and Pete wasn't moving either, all three boys remaining completely immobile. 

"How are you feeling?" Frank found himself asking, also noticing it was a stupid thing to say right as the words left his lips. 

"Kinda shit, considering I'm hungover and one of my best friends is fucking the one guy he said he wouldn't," Pete affirmed, still sounding distant and impersonal. 

_Shit._ Neither Frank nor Gerard had anything to say to that. For long seconds, the three boys stared at each other some more, only just starting to process the enormity of the situation. At one point, Frank figured it must've been his turn to speak, since Pete was staring at him in waiting and Gerard definitely wasn't in a position to speak to Pete about this on Frank's behalf.

"Uh." _Fuck._ That wasn't a good start at all. That wasn't even a _start,_ really. Frank was becoming increasingly anxious about this by the split-second. When he searched his brain for the right words to say, the only genuine ones he could find were the ones he eventually found the strength to speak. "I'm sorry."

It was then that the long-awaited explosion came. _"You're sorry?!"_ Pete raised his voice abruptly, and Frank flinched in shame before he could control his reaction. "You're fucking _sorry?_ You fucking _lied_ to my face just last night, Frank. What do you have to say about that?"

"I'm sorry-" Frank tried to speak, but Pete just put his mug down on the kitchen counter and continued like Frank hadn't spoken at all.

"Why did you do it, Frank? Why did you lie to me?" Pete asked, his voice suddenly way more quiet and broken; it was infinitely scarier than his yelling. 

"I-I..." Frank stuttered, unable to tell Pete why he'd lied, because he didn't actually know the reason. "I'm sorry," he found himself apologizing again without making the conscious decision to do so. 

Pete ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. "God, for how long have you been lying to me?" Pete raised his voice again, but unlike his first outburst, his voice wasn't sharp with anger. It was weak with betrayal. "Are you in love with him? Because if that's what was going on all along, you could've told me weeks ago and we could've figured something out. But the fact that you went behind my back, Frank… the fact you lied..." Pete shook his head in indignation. "That's what gets to me."

"I'm so-"

Pete interrupted him, this time even more aggravated by Frank's continuous attempts to apologize. "God, don't say you're fucking sorry! Stop saying that!" He was starting to tear up in rage, but this seemed to only fuel him to keep on talking. "If you were sorry, you wouldn't have gone behind my back for God knows how long. You wouldn't have hid something this important. And, if you were sorry, you wouldn't have fucking _lied_ to me last night when I asked you about it point-blank!" 

"What's going o-" Patrick walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes, clearly having been woken up by the noise. He looked over at Frank and Gerard first, eyes widening slightly before he noticed Pete in the kitchen too, connecting the dots right away. "Oh."

Pete turned to Patrick when he entered the scene, "Did you know?"

Patrick didn't answer, but his silence was so damning that he might as well have.

"Wow," Pete chuckled slightly, angry tears still falling from his eyes, "both my friends, behind my back… wow. Truly impressive."

A voice came from the staircase, and Frank cursed himself at the realization that the scene was about to become even bigger. "Pete?" The voice called out, still blissfully unaware of the situation going down in the kitchen. "Are you alright?" It was coming closer by the second, "I didn't see you when I got up to- oh." 

Mikey then walked into the kitchen to find the same scene Patrick had inadvertently walked into, reading the room just as quickly.

He was the next target in Pete's line of questioning. "Did _you_ know?"

Mikey had the exact same reaction as Patrick had a few moments prior, ditching words for a damning silence.

Pete laughed in disbelief, _"Wow._ Would you look at that? Pete Wentz, the fucking fool. Incredible." He started making his way out of the kitchen, leaving behind his fresh coffee. Pete pushed past Patrick and Frank in a clear attempt to leave behind the situation. Mikey tried placing a gentle hand on his shoulder but was quickly batted off, and soon enough, Pete vanished into the morning street. 

After a few moments of silence, Gerard - who had been quiet the whole time - was the first to speak. 

"I don't think that went very well."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "Understatement of the fucking century, man," he retorted, irritated by Gerard's obvious remark. 

Patrick turned to Frank, ignoring the fact Gerard and Mikey were still there. "You… _still?_ After all this time?"

It took him a while to understand Patrick was referring to the fact that he continued sleeping with Gerard even after promising not to. When he did, however, he felt the weight of yet another person's disappointment start to weigh him down - Frank didn't know if the weight fell harder on his shoulders or on his chest. 

"I… I couldn't help it."

Patrick laughed incredulously, "You couldn't help it?" He crossed his arms. "What does that even _mean?_ Someone else was making you fuck him? You don't know how to own up to your fucking actions, is that it?"

Hearing Patrick swear never failed to be jarring, but in this scenario, with Patrick's added disappointment, it was even worse. 

"You didn't tell Pete this whole time?" Mikey chimed in. "I thought he knew all along." He looked at Frank and Gerard, "Also, can you guys rub some fucking ice on your skin? Jesus."

Frank buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the strings that seemed to be pulling at his every limb, anger and disgust wrapping him from head to toe. How had he gotten himself so tangled up in this? How had the spider gotten caught in its own web? Had Frank only given himself the illusion of control all along? His head was once again caught in the familiar buzz he hated - vicious bumblebee after vicious bumblebee.

"Dude, read the room," Patrick suddenly said, causing Frank to look back up. 

When he scanned the kitchen, Frank noticed Gerard had moved from his petrified position next to him to instead stand at the other side of the kitchen, holding Pete's forgotten mug and nonchalantly sipping at the coffee. 

"What?" Gerard shrugged. "Just because your friend is mad, that doesn't mean I should let some perfectly good coffee go to waste."

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"You know, when we were talking about Frank the other week, I didn't expect you to take me so literally when I told you to sit on him," Hayley commented to Gerard on Monday morning when he first walked into art class.

He took his usual seat across from her. "It was just a dare."

Hayley smiled. "Yeah, and you fucking delivered!" She recalled, "Do you remember how loud everyone was cheering for you, dude?"

"Sorta. I was a little busy at the time," he smiled back, but it never reached his eyes.

Hayley noticed this right away and immediately investigated, "Woah, what's going on?"

Gerard made a sound that was half-groan half-whine before telling her, "Well, you know how you told me that I'd be fucked if Brendon found out that Frank and I were hooking up?" She nodded. "So, Frank just reaped the consequences of our stupid actions with his friends, and now I'm worried the same will soon happen with me."

The orange-haired girl stared at him for a few seconds, looking like she was completely over Gerard's shenanigans. "You didn't stop fucking him, did you?" She sighed knowingly. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head, not wanting to see the annoyed expression on her face once he admitted it. 

"God, I seriously don't understand your thought process here. How do you think this is gonna end, Gerard? Where do you think this fling will take you?" Hayley spat, more annoyed than angry.

"I don't know! All I know is that I can tell myself I'll stop, but when the moment presents itself, I just can't make myself quit him." She remained quiet, watching Gerard in an irritated silence. He thought to ask, "Are you gonna tell Brendon?"

Hayley responded, "No, but now you have to."

"Why?" Gerard wondered, terrified of that conversation even in theory.

"Because!" She exclaimed, like there was something obvious he was missing. "Frank failed to tell Pete and look what the fuck happened to him! Do you want that to happen to you too? So you and Frank can live together in social exile until graduation? Because if Pete didn't take it kindly, imagine how _Brendon_ will take it, considering how we all actually fell apart. Besides, why did you even pick Frank?"

"What do you mean?"

Hayley rolled her eyes. "For the lap dance. But also in general, I guess. Why did you choose him?"

"Well I couldn't choose Pete for the lap dance! Brendon would've _definitely_ killed me then. Also, he's my brother's boyfriend and I'm not looking to fight a war on two fronts," Gerard justified, feeling a little annoyed that Hayley was asking him about this in the first place. 

"What about Patrick?"

"Patrick seems too innocent," he explained, "I would've felt bad."

"Right," Hayley nodded, "and what about my other question? Why Frank, in general?"

Gerard thought about it. Gerard thought about it long and hard. Truthfully, he had no idea why he was so drawn to Frank. It was like a pull beyond his control, that became increasingly harder to resist the more he fought against it. Gerard was the kind of guy who liked instant reward systems - a feature he shared with Frank - and things that felt good right away were infinitely more tempting than those that were good in the long run. He figured this was the most dangerous feature they could've had in common - two completely different people with a powerful attraction to one another and equally addictive personalities. It was a more explosive combination than either of them had initially realized. 

"I don't know. I guess I'm just an impulsive motherfucker."

Hayley chuckled, "At least you're honest."

Right. At least Gerard was honest.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"We only have a week left to work on our English project, Frank." Gerard pushed the shorter boy gently off of him. "Let's get some work done before anything else."

Frank dragged himself off of Gerard, flopping down on his desk chair crankily. He'd spent the entire day alone; as expected, Patrick and Pete avoided him after their argument over the weekend. Frank couldn't even be mad at them. Truthfully, he was much angrier at _himself_ for letting things get to this point - especially considering he'd been given the exact advice that would've prevented the consequences he was now facing. 

"I'm writing up my notes on the hats in a logical order now," Gerard explained, scribbling away at his notebook, "I suggest you do the same."

"What does it matter?" Frank whined, "I'll fail anyways."

"No you won't," Gerard stated with a suspicious amount of confidence.

"And you know that _how?"_

He shrugged, "Just do."

Frank decided not to argue with Gerard and instead gave his best shot at being productive. He tried going over his existing notes, summarizing them and putting them in an order he deemed would be most logical for an oral presentation. For a few minutes when he first arrived at the Way residence, Frank thought the incident with Pete would make things difficult between him and Gerard. However, he soon learned it did the exact opposite - his fight with Pete had only made Frank even more willing to lose himself in the raven-haired boy. 

It gave him yet another reason to want something that would soothe his mind. 

Funny enough, the two boys sat in a focused silence for an hour or so, genuinely invested in their notes. Gerard would occasionally mumble under his breath when he was thinking, which Frank would have found deeply infuriating if it were anyone _but_ Gerard. Instead, he found it oddly endearing and motivating, making him write down his notes with an amount of aspiration he never would've ascribed to any piece of English work before. At one point, Frank heard Gerard take a deep breath and put his materials down, clearly signaling he had wrapped up his work for the day. Frank then rushed to wrap up his work too, feeling unusually satisfied with what he had just produced when he put his own materials down.

He looked up from where he was sitting at his reflection in the vanity, contemplating his look for a few moments before spitting out something random. 

"Hey Gerard?" Frank turned away from the mirror to face him.

Gerard looked up, eyebrows raised in question. "Yeah?"

Frank turned to look back at his own reflection, causing Gerard to also turn and look at him through the mirror. 

"How do you think I'd look with your makeup?"

Gerard giggled, "Hot? I don't know. We can try it out," he suggested.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Gerard nodded, "we're done with our work for the day. Unless you have more work to do when you get home or something."

Frank did indeed have physics homework he needed to get done, but he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to hang out with Gerard - especially if it involved getting up close and personal like doing makeup would require. 

"I don't, no," he lied. "Let's do it, then."

Gerard got up from where he was sitting at his bed, gesturing for Frank to sit at the vanity. "Alright, go sit at the _coiffeuse."_

Frank froze halfway through a step, "Sit down at the _what?"_

"At the _coiffeuse."_ Gerard answered slowly, looking confused as to why Frank was asking about his choice of word. 

"Is that what you call a vanity?" Frank laughed, "Hold on! Say it again!"

Gerard rolled his eyes and smiled, looking a little embarrassed but complying anyways. _"Coiffeuse."_ A soft blush filled his cheeks, and Frank thought there definitely wasn't anything more adorable than Gerard shyly speaking French. 

_"Coiffeuse,"_ Frank repeated, sounding nowhere near as fluent and natural as Gerard. "Say something else in French!"

"Like what?"

"Anything!" Frank said enthusiastically. He didn't believe it had taken him this long to ask Gerard to speak French for him.

Gerard sighed, _"Je sais pas ce que je vois en toi. Charmant imbécile."_

Frank thought that sounded an awful lot like an insult, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He thought that he had loved Gerard's voice before. That was nothing. Hearing Gerard speak French in his lovable - and strangely feminine - voice was definitely Frank's new favorite thing. 

"What does that mean?" He wondered offhandedly. 

Gerard crossed his arms. "It means _sit the fuck down and let me do your makeup."_

Frank thought that definitely wasn't what it meant, but he wasn't about to argue with Gerard when he was complying with his initial request to do his makeup. He sat down at the vanity - or the _coiffeuse,_ as he so cleverly remarked to himself - and watched as Gerard opened a few drawers here and there, taking out some circular cases, brushes, and miscellaneous tubes. 

He then paused for a few moments and examined Frank's face, like an artist trying to visualize art on a blank canvas. When he seemed content with his vision, he reached back into a drawer and pulled out a short tube along with a pink sponge. 

"What's that?" Frank asked, curious about what was about to go on his face.

"Concealer. For your dark circles," Gerard answered, opening the tube and applying some under Frank's eyes. He then took the sponge and used it to dab the product onto Frank's skin, evening it out until it looked smooth and blended. "I can't apply a thicker coat like I usually do on myself because this shade is a little pale for you. I don't wanna make you look crazy."

Frank just hummed in agreement - like he totally knew what Gerard was talking about. 

Gerard then took a large fluffy brush and opened up a circular container, tapping the brush lightly inside the container before reaching out to Frank's face, smoothly rubbing the end of the brush under his eyes where he had applied the concealer. Frank thought the experience was almost therapeutic. The fluffy bristles of the brush and Gerard's gentle hand made Frank's thoughts vanish from his brain like they'd never been there at all. 

"Look up for me, Frankie." 

He complied, opening his eyes - which he hadn't realized he'd closed at all - and looking up to face Gerard. The raven-haired boy stepped closer, suddenly grabbing Frank's chin with one hand as he rested his knee on the stool in a move that reminded Frank far too much of his time at the party on Saturday. Did Gerard plan every single one of his actions to remind Frank of not only his existence, but of his powerful effect on him too? 

Again, that clever bastard.

"This is mascara," Gerard's voice was suddenly low, like he was trying to lull Frank to sleep, "and it'll make your lashes look nice and angelic."

 _Angelic._ What an ironic yet appropriate adjective for them, Frank thought. 

He struggled not to flinch when Gerard brought a bristled wand to his eyes, the hand on his chin definitely working to still him. Gerard started running the wand through his eyelashes steadily. Frank thought it definitely felt weird as fuck - how did Gerard just do this every morning? When he was done with both eyes, the boy withdrew the mascara wand from Frank's face, but didn't move himself from the position they'd found themselves in, almost perfectly mirroring the lap dance from Saturday night. 

For a second, Frank wondered whether Gerard was going to kiss him. However, it seemed like he was busy enjoying the moment he held Frank in, because he smiled to himself when he noticed Frank was subconsciously holding his breath. Gerard eventually decided to put Frank out of his misery and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips; Frank thought there was something special about how casual it was. 

Gerard reached back into the vanity and pulled out another circular container. "Alright," he cleared his throat before speaking again, "this is a highlighter. It's just shiny fairy dust."

Frank giggled at that description. "You know, you really are like a fairy."

"That's not a very nice thing to call a gay man," Gerard joked. 

Frank pulled his expression into a fake scowl. "You fairy."

Gerard raised his hand dramatically and pretended to throw his non-existent long hair over his shoulders. "Thank you, darling," he laughed. "But if I'm a fairy, what magical creature are you? A centaur? I think you're kinda horse-like."

Frank softly kicked Gerard's shins to make his displeasure at the snarky comment known. This caused him to giggle softly before he raised his arms in playful surrender, "Alright, alright! Just lemme do your highlighter!" 

Frank stilled, letting Gerard dab the shiny powder over his cheekbones where Frank remembered regularly seeing a soft glitter on Gerard's own face. He predicted Gerard would move onto his nose, and sure enough, he was correct. As he felt the pad of a finger tap on the tip of his nose, Frank heard the other boy speak again. "You know..." Frank looked up to meet his gaze, feeling the tension from earlier creep up again before Gerard continued, "... I wasn't wrong about you being horse-like. When you kicked me it really felt like you had metal under your feet."

He groaned and proceeded to kick Gerard again, who seemed to think his clever comment about Frank and his apparent equine characteristics was simply hilarious. "Sometimes it's like you're almost bullying me," Frank commented.

Gerard raised an eyebrow, "You're only noticing this _now?"_

"Sometimes it's also like you're trying to annoy me into fucking you," Frank added, deciding now was as good of a time as ever to bring up his doubts.

"Again, you're only noticing this _now?"_ Gerard laughed, "You're even denser than I thought you were."

"Ouch," Frank said in the most deadpan tone he could muster, "my feelings." 

"Clearly aren't very sharp," Gerard completed. "But, in more positive news, I'm almost done with your makeup. Now shut your trap so I can put on your lip gloss."

Frank was about to make a comment about that being a little hostile when Gerard placed the wand of his lip gloss firmly over Frank's bottom lip, essentially forcing him to shut up unless he wanted lip gloss on his teeth. He decided against that and settled for keeping his bitter remark to himself instead. 

"Alright, congratulations, Frankie," Gerard said once he was done applying the gloss. "You are now… me." Gerard signaled for Frank to turn around in his seat to face the mirror. However, before he could comment on his new look, Gerard reached into a drawer on his vanity, taking a flower crown and placing it over Frank's head. 

_"Now_ you're me." Gerard smiled at him through the mirror, "What do you think?"

"I think..." Frank analyzed his reflection for a while, trying to decide how he felt about the look. Eventually, he came to his verdict. "I love it. I think I've never looked gayer," he said with a smile painting his face. 

"Shame the personality doesn't keep up with the look," Gerard snapped back immediately. "Do you wanna turn me into you? Won't take long to do some messy eyeliner. I have a black shirt somewhere too."

"You know, getting eyeliner that is messy in the right way _and_ smudged to perfection is actually a talent."

Gerard pulled Frank up and sat down by the vanity. He held a black eyeliner pencil out to Frank, "Alright then, let's see it."

Frank dragged the pencil over Gerard's eyelids just like he did to himself in the mornings - confidently yet definitely irregular. When Frank was done with the top portion of his eyes, Gerard opened them and looked up, wordlessly telling Frank that he could do the bottom half too. He did so, not being any more precise than he had been above Gerard's eyelashes. Then, he proceeded to gently smudge out the liner with with the pads of his fingers, more cautious than he was with himself out of fear of accidentally hurting Gerard.

Unlike Frank, he didn't flinch once throughout the whole process. Frank figured Gerard was used to scarier things like mascara - he thought that thing had been positively unnerving - and thus wouldn't find a blunt eyeliner pencil very scary. When he was done, he rubbed his fingers on his jeans to clean them off; they were already black anyways. 

"We're officially each other," Frank announced.

"No, wait," Gerard got up and opened his dresser, taking out a black shirt and a pale blue sweater. He tossed the sweater out to Frank, "Put this on."

Frank was equally as curious to see how he'd look, so he didn't protest Gerard's order and instead slipped the sweater on, immediately feeling pleased with how soft it felt. He watched as Gerard changed into the black shirt, his chest filled with a feeling he couldn't describe with any words besides 'domestic.'

"Look at us," Gerard pointed at the mirror, "now we're each other."

"I think you pull off the punk look better than I do the pastel look," Frank confessed. "You look really hot. Like, you should consider doing this sometimes."

Gerard smiled at him through the mirror. "I kinda dig it. I think you look really good too, though. Your smallness really enhances the cuteness of the outfit."

"Did you just call me small?" Frank scowled.

"Yes, Frank. I thought that was evident from your height. Or the lack thereof." Gerard suddenly burst into laughter, "Also, stop scowling at me! I can't take you seriously when you look so utterly unthreatening."

Frank inevitably laughed too, because yeah - he looked like he spent his weekends rescuing puppies from the boogie monster. As the two boys laughed at each other, a fleeting thought occurred to Frank - he hadn't felt a drop of anxiety since Gerard sat him down at the vanity. 

And as he grabbed Gerard's face to pull him into a kiss, it also occurred to Frank how lucky he was to have such a beautiful distraction from his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When you touch me I die just a little inside. I wonder if this could be love..."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> What do we think of Frank and Gerard as a couple here guys? Do we still think they should be together? At least considering the current circumstances? 
> 
> Also thank you so much for the love on this fic! For my first fic ever I couldn't ask for better support <3
> 
> Next chapter is called Stupid Love!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> -Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	11. Stupid Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I want your stupid love!"

Gerard noticed that Frank had the tendency of getting a little possessive. And by a little, he actually meant _hella._ Gerard played the fool at the fact Frank focused way more on giving him hickeys in highly visible places. He played the fool when Frank shot venomous glares at whoever even dared check him out. In fact, Gerard even played the fool when Frank would shoot _him_ venomous glares, which all but took him smiling at a random guy a little too genuinely. But Gerard noticed _every_ act of jealousy, no matter how small or how much Frank tried to hide it. 

He thought that being treated like this should've been aggravating - or at the very least insulting - but Gerard saw it differently; he just saw it as another way of making Frank lose control. If there was something he loved more than anything, it was adrenaline - and there was hardly anything in the world more thrilling than a jealous Frank. Gerard thought it was probably due to Frank's anxious, hesitant nature; he was so _controlled_ most of the time, that when he did snap, he snapped _hard._

And Gerard Way was, both at his best and at his worst, a plotting, impulsive bastard. 

So, when he was asked by his art teacher to help out a certain junior by the name of Bert McCracken, Gerard went into art that Wednesday with a plan. Bert already knew about him from being friends with Mikey - although most people knew about Gerard from being friends with Mikey, because the boy was just so goddamn _likeable_ \- so Gerard already felt like there was an unspoken familiarity between the two of them. 

Sure enough, the two boys got along well during the period. Gerard thought they lacked the fiery chemistry he shared with Frank; this made no difference to him, however, as he didn't _actually_ have any intention of having anything romantic or sexual with Bert. 

But Frank didn't have to know that for the meantime. 

When Gerard left art, he made sure to invite Bert over to his locker with the promise of lending him a set of pastels he kept in there - that part was indeed true. He dug through his locker in search of the pastels and made sure to bend over a little too far instead of just crouching down - because he was _that_ much of a plotting bastard. Gerard heard the distinct sound of Frank's heavy boots on the vinyl tiles coming down the hallway and smirked to himself. Gerard knew Frank always went by his locker again after second period on Wednesdays, so he was feeling particularly smart about his little plan. 

He stood back up and handed Bert the pastels, pretending not to notice Frank standing behind him. There were a few other students in the hallway besides them, but it wasn't the usual buzz of the mornings before first period. Gerard shut his locker and leaned sideways onto it, facing away from Frank and towards Bert. He heard Frank shuffle through his materials but still spoke to the boy in front of him.

"Here you go," he smiled kindly at Bert.

Bert smiled back, looking down at the pastels in his hands. "Thank you so much! You were so helpful to me today. Can we meet on Friday so you can teach me how to use them properly? If you're not too busy?" 

Gerard nodded, "Of course." He then decided to play up the flirtiness a little, speaking as clearly as possible to make sure Frank heard him properly, "You're great, surely I could make time for you."

Bert blushed slightly and scratched his head nervously. "Uh, thanks. You're really nice."

Gerard was almost sure he could feel Frank's gaze boring a hole through the back of his skull - which only pushed him to flirt with Bert even more once he knew his plan was likely to work. "I'm always nice to cute guys," he said, adjusting his flower crown.

The other boy's eyes widened in shock, and Gerard figured Bert likely wasn't used to being hit on. "Oh… thank you." He looked away from Gerard, eyes fixing towards the ground. For a few seconds, Gerard could tell Bert was searching for the right words, so he waited patiently until Bert eventually decided to say, "I-uh, I have to go to class," and leave. 

When Bert was out of sight, Gerard took a deep breath and put his arm down away from the locker where he was leaning. He jumped at the sudden sound of a locker being shut harshly behind him, but smiled slightly to himself once he realized it was Frank, clearly annoyed by his bullshit. To no surprise, his plan had worked. Although Frank wasn't exactly _stupid,_ it was incredibly easy to get under his skin. Gerard pushed Frank's buttons almost like he was skillfully playing a video game; he was aware that some would call his methods borderline manipulative, but he figured that Frank being so possessive already put them firmly in morally grey territory anyways. 

Gerard then decided to turn around and face the other boy, who, just as expected, looked like he was fuming. He decided to act the fool like he usually did.

"Hi Frankie."

Frank didn't reply. Instead, he grabbed Gerard by the arm, fingers digging angrily into his skinny biceps. He started dragging Gerard into the janitor's closet, which by then, might as well have been renamed to the Frank & Gerard School Hook-Up Spot. Gerard bit his lip in anticipation as he let himself get pulled into the dark tiny room. In fact, he didn't even wait for Frank to throw him against the closed door, choosing to lean against it himself as he waited for Frank to say or preferably _do_ something. He made a witty remark to himself about that thing even more preferably being _him,_ but opted to remain silent for the meantime.

Instead, Frank just crossed his arms and glared at him, clearly still angry but not doing anything in what was - in Gerard's opinion - an incredibly puzzling move. Gerard hadn't predicted this. He decided to sass Frank a little bit to see how much he could poke the bear.

"You know, we're meant to be in class, Frankie," Gerard said in a falsely innocent tone. "I'm starting to get a little worried about how you're treating your education." 

"I'm meant to be in physics now, Gerard. I can afford to skip one calc or physics period," Frank eventually replied, his tone low and harsh. 

"Ah yes," Gerard laughed, "that's my darling Frankie - always smart of math but forever dumb of ass." 

There was only so much of Gerard's bullshit that Frank could take, and that was exactly _it._ Before he could even think about what he was doing, Frank's right hand zipped through the air, firmly coiling around Gerard's neck and bringing it slightly forward towards him, forcing the taller boy's face to rest not even an inch away from his. Frank stepped closer to Gerard then, cornering him against the door even though he'd been there to start with.

"You think that's funny?" He spat, his voice a whole octave deeper than usual. 

Gerard bit his lip again, very obviously entertained by what was going on and totally unbothered by the hand around his neck. "Sorta, yeah," he giggled to himself, "I'm kinda proud of myself for coming up with that on the fly."

Frank didn't look very impressed by yet another one of his clever remarks. "That's not what I meant," he growled and tightened his grip around Gerard's neck slightly. "I meant if you think it's funny to go around trying to manipulate me like that."

Gerard raised his eyebrows in surprise; he didn't know Frank had noticed that at all. He didn't know what to say either, but luckily, Frank was handling that problem for him already as he couldn't really speak with the hand around his throat after Frank had constricted his fingers more so than before. 

"Don't have anything witty to say now?" Frank mocked his earlier tone, faking innocence. Gerard just shook his head _no_ in response, even shocking himself with his sudden obedience. 

Frank loosened his grip around his neck a little, appearing slightly content, but still not letting go. Gerard was starting to think his plan had failed and was beginning to feel like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. He was almost giving up hope on getting laid that day - which kinda sucked, but Gerard was willing to accept it on the grounds that he only really had fun when he felt desired anyways.

"You know what's the worst part about the way you play me?" Frank asked, although Gerard heavily suspected it was a rhetorical question and opted not to speak unless he was demanded an answer. His suspicions were proven correct when Frank continued regardless of the fact he didn't reply.

"You wanna know?" The shorter boy inched even closer, pressing his chest against Gerard's and tightening his grip around his throat again. "The worst part… is that I fall for it every goddamn time. And even now that I see it, I'll fall for again."

Before Gerard could register what Frank even meant by that, Frank slipped his free hand under his shirt, delivering a harsh scratch down his chest that would've drawn some sort of sound from Gerard if it weren't for the hand around his throat. 

"I'll fall for it tomorrow," Frank removed his hand from under Gerard's shirt and instead gripped harshly at his ass, purposefully digging his nails into the flesh for long seconds before lazily speaking again. "I'll fall for it the day after that," he then flipped the other boy around to face the door, placing one hand harshly on his hip and the other over his mouth to keep him quiet. "I'll fall for it every fucking day, you know why?" Frank then briefly took his hand out from over Gerard's mouth to grab at both his arms, manhandling him so that his wrists were held firmly against his lower back and within his left fist before reaching up again with his other, placing it right back where it was. 

Gerard shook his head and gave a questioning whine behind Frank's hand. 

"I'll fall for it every single day because you make me want to wipe that grimy attitude off your face." 

Deep down, Gerard knew he probably should've been scared of the other boy in that moment, but he couldn't feel even a hint of fear no matter how hard he tried. The logical part of his brain knew it might've been due to the fact he was taller than Frank and could definitely fight back and win if he had to. But in his heart, Gerard knew the real reason he didn't fear Frank in that moment was because he trusted the boy would never truly hurt him; he didn't _need_ to fear Frank. Gerard knew that no matter how much he annoyed him, Frank would never lay even a finger on him out of line. 

For all emotional purposes though, Gerard told himself the logical reason was the only correct one. 

Gerard told himself _that_ was why he relaxed into Frank's grip instead of fighting him back, smirking slightly to himself at the realization that his plan had indeed worked. 

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"So, Gerard, how long have you been fucking Frank Iero?" Brendon asked once he got to the cafeteria that day. 

Gerard immediately froze once he processed those words. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gerard was very fucked. How fucked was Gerard? Very. Gerard was more fucked now than he had _been_ fucked over the past two weeks. He was so shocked at the realization he'd been discovered that he forgot to actually answer Brendon's question - he even forgot to sit down at the lunch table. Gerard was only snapped out of his thoughts when Ray spoke to him curtly. 

"Answer his question."

"Uh..." Gerard faltered, "... two weeks?"

Brendon narrowed his eyes. "Is that it? Two weeks?"

"Maybe a little more than two weeks..." Gerard mumbled nervously. "But less than three."

Brendon got up to face him directly, and Gerard inwardly cringed at the look of pure, unadulterated pain on on his face. He didn't know why he was so shocked - he knew this would come eventually. 

"Why did you do it?" Brendon questioned, looking like he was on the verge of tears. "I thought _you_ of all people would understand, Gerard. I thought you'd stick by me." When Gerard didn't answer, he raised his voice, drawing a few looks from people around the cafeteria, _"Why did you do it?!"_

Gerard simply shook his head. He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to just tell the truth and sound like a complete and utter piece of shit. 'Because I felt like it' wasn't exactly the most convincing argument, and Gerard - unlike Frank - had a knack for winning arguments, so he knew to stay the fuck quiet and let Brendon talk it out himself. 

Brendon raised his voice even further, "Why did you do it?! Tell me!" At this point, quite a few people around the cafeteria were watching the scene unfold - including Frank, who Gerard could see sitting alone a few tables behind them. 

Ray chimed in, his tone a lot more leveled than Brendon's, "Are you gonna answer the question, dude? Provide any justification at all?"

Gerard knew he had fucked up. He knew that fact so well that he didn't even know how to justify what he had done. All he knew was to spit out his thoughts and hope for the best. 

"Have you considered that maybe, just _maybe,_ Pete didn't out you?" He snapped, immediately causing Ray, Brendon, and Hayley to gasp in shock. 

She glared pointedly at Gerard. "Why the fuck would you say that?" Hayley murmured, clearly a warning for Gerard to stop going down that line of conversation. 

He opted to disregard her warning, and instead fully jumped into professing everything he'd been thinking for the past few weeks, "Well, Hayley, Ray.... have any of you considered that maybe, someone _else_ outed Brendon? Or that maybe his parents just figured it out?" He ranted, turning to face Brendon. "Just think about it - what could Pete possibly have gained by outing you, dude? He lost you, your trust, and what the fuck did he get in exchange?"

Ray crossed his arms. "People don't always act logically."

"Maybe not, but they almost always act in a way that is self-serving," Gerard reasoned, "And outing Brendon almost certainly _wasn't_ in Pete's best interest."

Brendon jumped in again, seeming like he just barely had the emotional strength for the conversation, "If _that's_ what you thought," he spat the words like they tasted terrible on his tongue, "why didn't you take that up with _us_ first? You just had to go straight into fucking one of Pete's friends? One of the people who immediately forgave Pete for outing me, even though he knew just as much as we did about the situation?"

Yeah. Gerard acknowledged there was no way he'd argue himself out of this one.

"Seriously, dude," Ray spoke again, his voice low and quiet but filled with betrayal, "I don't understand why you did it. Out of all the people in the world… you chose Frank?"

"How did you find out? Who even told you?" Gerard found himself asking Brendon. 

He took a deep breath before giving him an answer. "Pete Wentz."

"What?!" Gerard asked again, suddenly even more confused than he had been before he got that piece of information. 

"Well, because your thing with Frank caused him quite a bit of trouble, he thought to cause you some in return," Brendon explained. 

"Brendon, listen-"

"I don't wanna hear it." He waved his hand dismissively, "Just go. I really thought you of all people would get it."

Gerard turned to Hayley to see if she'd help him out but she only continued glaring at him, cold and solid as a rock. Ray didn't look any warmer, and Gerard all too suddenly felt completely unwelcome. He picked up his backpack and did the walk of shame across the cafeteria, searching for a place to sit. There was only one seat in the whole cafeteria he felt was viable.

"Mind if I sit?"

Frank shrugged, "Not at all. Welcome to the rejects' rejects."

Gerard placed his backpack down under his chair and sat, aware that the whole cafeteria was watching the two of them in shock. He had to understand it must've been entertaining - it was quite literally like watching Sherlock Holmes and Professor Moriarty meet for a peaceful lunch, at least in their eyes. 

"People should start talking right about..." Gerard paused for suspense and raised a finger. "... now."

Frank chuckled. "Looks like Romeo and Juliet both got disowned."

Gerard suddenly looked mortified, "You've read Romeo and Juliet?!"

"Uh… sorta? I was only in seventh grade and never really paid attention in English. So it's like I only half read it. Don't really remember much of it at all."

"Ah, alright," Gerard sighed in relief which made Frank feel a little confused, but not to the point of questioning him about it. Instead, he decided to inquire about the scene he'd just witnessed.

"So, Lucifer..." Frank smiled. "Got kicked out of heaven?"

"You know the story of Lucifer?"

"Dad was a huge Catholic. Made me go to Sunday school for years," He sighed.

"Yikes," Gerard winced. "Must've done wonders for your internalized homophobia."

Frank's eyes widened and he laughed lightly, "Sunday school was one of the least worrying things my dad did for my internalized homophobia. Guy was a dick. I'm happy mom and I are on our own."

The other boy smiled in sympathy, nodding slightly in understanding, "Family really can be toxic."

"Did _you_ go to church?"

"No," Gerard shook his head, "I just know a lot about the Bible because it's very influential in literature. If everyone around you started referencing the same movie over and over you'd eventually know the plot."

Frank nodded, "Legally Blonde."

"What?"

"Patrick and Pete used to reference Legally Blonde so much during junior year that now I know the plot without ever having watched the movie," he explained. 

Gerard's eyes widened in shock. "You've _never_ seen Legally Blonde?! The more I learn about you, the worse of a gay you become."

"I've seen Mean Girls!" Frank appealed, hoping to sound like a slightly better gay.

"That helps your case _a little,_ but almost everyone with a brain has seen Mean Girls. So, basically, women and gays. I'm surprised I even get to include you in that statement."

Frank's jaw dropped. "I have a brain!"

"Yeah, I knew that, but I didn't know your brain was capable of doing much besides worrying. Hayley once told me that when you guys were friends it was like you were only ever half there because of your overthinking."

At the mention of Hayley, Frank briefly saw Gerard's face fall in melancholy, the recent fight clearly still very fresh in his mind. Immediately, Frank felt a strong jolt of rage ripple through his whole body; he felt the monster he usually tried to sedate completely sober up, snarling and thirsty for blood. 

Frank's possessiveness went multiple ways. It meant no one could mess with what was his, and making Gerard upset was _definitely_ included in that statement. He suddenly felt hot, _too_ hot, and threw his leather jacket off his body before getting up and stomping over to where Ray, Brendon, and Hayley were sitting, completely ignoring Gerard's requests for him to sit back down and leave the ordeal alone. 

Frank grabbed Brendon by the collar of his bright button-up shirt and dragged the boy up from his seat. He heard Hayley shout at him to put Brendon down, but he couldn't register it. Not when he was facing the cause of his anger like this. Frank held Brendon against the table and his grip didn't relent for even a second. 

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He yelled, aware that by now dozens of students were watching his every move.

Hayley responded for Brendon, "Frank, put him the fuck down," she said in a cautioning manner.

Frank ignored her, "Gerard wasn't trying to be nasty to you guys! He just _doubted_ your side of the story which was perfectly reasonable considering he wasn't even here when the fight actually happened."

Ray was the one to speak on Brendon's behalf that time, "Which is why he shouldn't have taken your word for it."

"And he should've taken _yours?_ You're the ones making an accusation, and isn't it 'innocent until proven guilty'?" Frank's voice was gradually rising in volume and the more he spoke, the angrier he felt at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

"That's the US criminal justice system, which everyone knows is bullshit." Hayley got up from her seat, moving to stand next to Brendon. She raised her voice, becoming more aggravated the longer Frank held her friend in his grip, "And Frank, I said _put him the fuck down._ Or we _will_ have problems."

Again, Frank ignored her, choosing to yell at Brendon once again. He twisted his fist in Brendon's shirt and held him more harshly, causing Hayley to wrap her hand tightly around his wrist where he held the boy. "He knew both of our friend groups, okay? Gerard became friends with you, got to know us, and in the end still chose to hook up with me. That means he learnt about both sides and made a judgement. Isn't that what normal people do? Doesn't his judgement count too?"

Hayley tightened her grip around Frank's wrist, reminding him she was still there as she cautioned him again, "Frank, this is your last warning. _Put. Brendon. Down."_

It was then that Frank slightly raised his other fist with the intent of using it to gesture to them as he made his next point. However, before his fist could reach the height of his shoulders, Hayley's own fist flew across the air, hitting Frank square on the face with shocking force; he let go of Brendon right away, doubling over from the power of the hit. It took him quite a few seconds to process what had just happened. 

Hayley Williams had just punched him in the face. Hard.

Quickly, Frank heard the shuffling of footsteps running behind him preceded by the feeling of a hand grabbing him by the arm. "Frank, oh my fucking God. What were you doing?" It was Gerard, and he was starting to pull Frank away from the cafeteria. "Let's leave. I got your things. We're done here for the day."

"We still have class," he said as he followed Gerard out of the school and into the parking lot. 

"We're skipping," Gerard stated. "Can you drive? We're going to my place."

"Yeah, I'll drive, just..." Frank raised a hand to his left eye, "hurts like a bitch."

"Of course it does, Frank. You just got punched in the face by Hayley fucking Williams. And by the way she knocked you back, she has a mean right hook."

"Can't argue that," he laughed lightly. "Man, why did she even punch me?"

Gerard groaned incredulously, as if Frank was asking the dumbest question in the universe. "Frank, she told you to put Brendon down multiple times and you didn't listen. Not only that, but you raised your fist at him and you looked mad as fuck. She probably thought you were going to punch him, so she punched you first."

"But... I wasn't going to punch Brendon."

"Yeah, maybe not, but it sure as hell looked like you were." 

Frank reached into his pockets for his car keys and unlocked his car, motioning for Gerard to get into the passenger seat before getting into the driver's seat himself. 

"Why don't you drive me?" Frank wondered when they both sat in his car. "You didn't get punched in the face."

Gerard laughed, "Yeah, I would if I _could."_

Frank gasped at this revelation. "You can't drive?!" 

"Nope. Failed my driver's test eight times then I just gave up." 

Frank smiled. "So it looks like there's another thing I can do that you can't." He felt shocked at this discovery. Frank had become used to kind of being the useless one in… whatever it was that he shared with Gerard. "What else can't you do?" 

"I can't sit here any longer," Gerard glared at him. "Get to driving."

"You're so demanding sometimes… you know I just got _punched_ in the face." Frank complained but did as he was told, turning the key in the ignition and making his way out of the school parking lot. The two boys made their way to Gerard's house in a comfortable silence; his place was less than ten minutes away from school by car, so soon enough, they arrived at their destination. Frank did his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his face as he drove, focusing on using his signals at every turn to distract himself from the fact he was almost certainly going to have a black eye in a few hours.

"You know, I just realized something," he spoke up as he pulled into Gerard's driveway, his face still pulsing in pain.

"What?"

Frank smiled like an asshole. "I can keep a clean locker and you can't."

"Do you wanna get punched in the face again?" Gerard said through a smile, crossing his arms mockingly. 

"Hey! I got punched for defending you to your friends! Don't talk to me like that!"

Gerard suddenly smirked. "Or what?" He inched closer to Frank and whispered, "You gonna spank me, Frankie?"

Frank felt the air get knocked out of his lungs way too quickly. "Jesus… you're so vulgar sometimes."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "You think _that_ was vulgar?! Watch this."

"Gerard, _no-"_

Before Frank could properly protest, Gerard let out an extremely exaggerated moan, grinding down on his seat and raising his shirt, feeling himself up his chest with one hand and through his pants with the other. Frank could tell the other boy was holding back his laughter, but even though he knew Gerard was acting like that specifically to embarrass him, he couldn't help but feel like he'd been punched again by the sight before him. Frank couldn't handle being in the car with Gerard a second longer - not when he was doing _that._

He quickly stepped out of the car and hit a button on his keys to lock it, trapping Gerard inside the vehicle. When Frank walked over to the other side of the car, he saw Gerard was staring at him through the window, pouting at him with his arms crossed.

"Let me out, Frankie!" His voice was muffled through the glass, and Frank laughed at how ridiculous he sounded. 

He stepped closer to the window, staring back at Gerard. "You're a fucking riot. I can't take you anywhere."

"And now I can't take _myself_ anywhere because you locked me in your fucking car! You idiot!" Gerard yelled, his voice still muffled. 

"I'll let you out," Frank said, making Gerard's face rise in anticipation before he continued, "on one condition. You don't sass me for the rest of the day."

Gerard rolled his eyes but slowly nodded, his arms still crossed. Frank unlocked the car and Gerard jumped out, almost knocking Frank down by hitting him with the door. "You asshole," he immediately said upon getting up, "I can't believe you locked me inside your car."

"You said you wouldn't sass me for the rest of the day..." Frank pouted.

Gerard laughed, "And you believed that? If I ever stop sassing you, kill me because I've been replaced." He wrapped an arm around Frank, "Now let's go take care of your face. Come on."

Frank let Gerard guide him into his house, trying to pretend he wasn't enjoying the other boy's warmth against him as they stepped into the living room. Frank noticed he was being guided into Gerard's bedroom and laid down on his bed once he got there, flopping down on the unkempt sheets. 

"I'll fetch some ice for your eye," Gerard murmured. "Stay right here and don't fucking touch it," he ordered.

Frank didn't have the energy to rebel as he was actually quite thankful Gerard was helping him out, so he patiently waited a few minutes while he went to get the ice. When Gerard returned, he held some ice cubes wrapped in a dish towel and sat next to Frank, placing the cold rag gently against his left eye. Frank thought it actually felt quite nice - he hadn't realized how warm his skin felt where he got hit until he got the numbing relief of the ice on his face. He shut his eyes so Gerard could hold the ice against his eyelid for a few seconds. 

"You know," Gerard whispered, still holding the cold dish towel to Frank's eye, "you didn't have to fight for me. There was no pleading my case there." He giggled slightly, "I was guilty as hell."

Frank opened his eyes and looked back at Gerard. "Maybe so, but I didn't like the way they were treating you." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as the memory replayed in his brain. "They didn't have to make a scene in front of everyone either. That was just obnoxious."

Gerard shot him a tight-lipped smile, rubbing the ice gently at the side of Frank's eye by his temple. "Wow, Frank. 'Obnoxious' is a pretty good word. I'm proud of you." 

Frank knew that comment was a little shady, but he couldn't help but smile back at the praise. "Thanks. You might be rubbing off on me."

"I think I've rubbed off on you once or twice already," the other boy grinned, clearly proud of himself for the clever double entendre. 

Frank groaned and rolled his eyes as much as he could with the pain of the punch still radiating through his skull. "You're always making innuendos, urgh." 

"What?" Gerard laughed, "I thought we were past that level of intimacy already. We certainly were this morning." 

"I might take up your offer on spanking you if you don't shut up already," Frank joked.

"Remind me to never stop talking."

Frank gasped, "That's kinky!"

"We're definitely past _that_ level of intimacy," Gerard chuckled, removing the cold rag from Frank's eyes before digging two tiny brick red pills out of his pockets. "Take these," he handed the medicine out to Frank and reached over to his bedside table to grab a water bottle. 

"What is this?" Frank wondered as he took the pills and the water bottle in his hands.

"Ibuprofen. It'll help with the pain and hopefully make your face less swollen."

Frank nodded and took the pills, handing the bottle back to Gerard as he got up. The boy grabbed at his blankets and covered Frank, wrapping him up in a cozy cocoon before leaning over and whispering, "Take a nap, Frankie. It'll help you feel better. I'll be over at my desk drawing if you need me."

"Thank you."

He then leaned closer and gave Frank a gentle kiss on the forehead, instantly dulling the buzz of his brain like a tranquilizer dart. Frank found himself smiling as he watched Gerard move to sit over at his desk, being lulled slowly to sleep by the sound of soft scratching on paper as Gerard drew. For the first time in a very long while, Frank fell into a peaceful and refreshing sleep, the thoughts in his brain completely quiet. 

While he slept, he missed the tweet that showed up on his feed, the first words heard from his secret admirer in some time. 

_@material_boy: I fear too early, for my mind misgives: some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, shall bitterly begin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I would battle for you, even if I break in two..."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> My only notes for this chapter were "Gerard is a little shit" and "Hayley punches Frank" so that must give you insight into my methods as a writer.
> 
> Gerard and Linda are my favorites to write in this fic. 
> 
> Hayley really is out here living the dream. Hanging out with Ray Toro. Kissing Avril Lavigne. Punching Frank Iero...
> 
> What do we think guys? Is Gerard too manipulative? Is Frank too possessive? I like hearing what you guys think of their relationship. 
> 
> Next chapter is called Bad Romance and it's a biiiig one!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	12. Bad Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omg, that's the name of the fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance..."

Linda gasped when she first laid eyes on Frank that Wednesday evening. "Oh God Frankie, what the hell happened to your face?!"

"Got punched. Don't worry about it."

"What do you _mean_ 'don't worry about it'?!" His mother shouted, clearly displeased with this answer. "My son just got punched and you expect me to not worry about it? Was it at school? Who even punched you?!"

Frank winced from the loud volume at which Linda was yelling; she had powerful vocal chords and knew how to use them. "Yeah, Hayley punched me in the cafeteria."

"What?! I... " She ran to the kitchen phone, "I need to talk to the school! She needs to get expelled, or at least suspended! That's physical assault, Frank!"

"No, mom!" He walked over to where his mom stood and gently pried the phone off her hands. "I'm fine." Frank put the phone back on the hook and gave his mom a reassuring smile. "It was just a big misunderstanding. And not gonna lie," he laughed, "I kinda had it coming."

"What exactly happened?" She eyed him like she wasn't fully convinced but looked willing to listen.

"Well…" He scratched his head, realizing he was going to have to tell his mom about his fling with Gerard in order to explain what happened. "So, Gerard and I kinda have a thing."

"Yeah no kidding, Frankie," Linda rolled her eyes. "I'm not _dumb."_

"Damn, okay, so… Gerard's friends found out today at lunch time about our fling because Pete found out over the weekend and he got mad at Gerard and I, so he told Brendon to get back at Gerard. So Hayley, Ray, and Brendon got pissed at Gerard and kinda kicked him out of their group. He came to sit with me but when I saw how upset he was about his friends..." Frank shook his head. "I don't know what came over me. Next thing I know, I'm grabbing Brendon by his collar and yelling at him. Hayley told me to put him down but I kinda didn't listen. At one point I raised my fist, and I probably looked really mad, so Hayley punched me because it looked like I was gonna punch Brendon."

"Is that it?" His mother narrowed her eyes. 

Frank nodded. "Yeah. It was just a misunderstanding."

"Did she apologize?"

"Uh… no. Gerard pulled me out of there as soon as I got hit. Don't think she had time to notice it was a misunderstanding. By the time I even looked back up I was almost in the parking lot."

Linda hummed, "Ah, so you were with _Gerard_ this whole time..." The suspicious look returned to her face. "What… were you doing?"

"He rubbed ice on my face and gave me some pills to help with the pain. Then I took a nap." 

She gasped again, "What pills did he give you, Frank?!" 

"Jesus, mom," he raised his hands defensively, "it was just some Ibuprofen."

Ever since Frank developed issues with sleeping pills earlier that year, Linda had been hesitant about giving Frank any sort of medication. Frank had to understand she had a valid reason to be concerned about him being given pills, especially considering he mentioned taking painkillers in particular.

"Describe the pills and how many you took."

"Uh..." Frank recalled how the pills looked like, "They were small, circular… uh, and red. Like a rusty brick red, not a vibrant red. And Gerard gave me two."

"Alright, that's almost definitely Ibuprofen. And the correct dosage too." His mother sighed in relief. "But please don't take random meds, Frankie. I get worried."

"I know, mom." Frank really did know. He kind of felt bad about giving his mother not only a scare with his injury, but how he handled it too. "I'm sorry," he apologized, truly feeling sorry.

"Wait, Frankie..." Linda's face lit up abruptly. "You managed to _sleep_ at Gerard's house?! In the middle of the afternoon?"

"Yes..." Frank said, slowly catching onto what his mother was referring to. 

"You slept, just like that? No sleeping pills or anything?" 

"Yeah, I just laid down and shut my eyes."

His mother paused for a few moments, trying to process what Frank had just told her. "What was Gerard doing while you fell asleep?" She questioned further, "Was he stroking your hair or something?"

"No," Frank shook his head, "he was sitting at his desk and drawing."

Linda's eyebrows raised so high into her forehead that Frank momentarily thought they were going to fly off her face. "Gerard got you to fall asleep by just… _being in the room with you?"_

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Wow, that's..." She trailed off, appearing positively shocked by the piece of information she'd just been given. "New," she eventually added. "That's new."

"Right," Frank replied, equally as surprised. "I, uh. I'm gonna go take a shower."

Linda nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll see you at dinner."

He hummed in agreement and ran up the stairs, almost flying into the shower. Once he settled under the warm spray, Frank was plunged into the all too familiar buzz of his mind. After a whole afternoon of relief, he couldn't be shocked that the Gerard-induced stillness wouldn't last forever. 

Frank thought about his encounter with Gerard in the janitor's closet earlier. Why did he hate being manipulated by Gerard, but ultimately enjoy the consequences? He then observed to himself that he didn't actually hate being manipulated by Gerard - he hated _being aware_ that he was being manipulated. Before he noticed Gerard was pushing him around, Frank had absolutely no issues whatsoever with the consequences that came from his mind games. 

As he lathered the soap over his body, a chilling realization occurred to Frank - one he'd hardly admit to himself, let alone another living soul. 

A sick, twisted part of him _enjoyed_ Gerard's manipulative ways because it gave him an excuse to let out his emotions on the raven-haired boy. All the possessiveness over Gerard and anger he felt about being played had a relatively safe way of being let out. Frank asked himself, _was_ it safe? Out of all the ways Frank had of releasing these emotions, he supposed this was one of the safest. It wasn't like Gerard was an innocent party, he rationalized. Gerard _did_ in fact know _exactly_ what he was doing whenever he pushed Frank's buttons - and he of course had the option of fighting back whenever he felt like it. 

But Gerard didn't fight back. Sure, he poked around here and there, but it was an unspoken truth already that there was almost an exchange of energy between the two of them. Frank told himself he liked power, but really, he liked the _illusion_ of power. He liked digging his nails and teeth into someone else's flesh to color it however he saw fit. He liked to pull, scratch, and grab at whatever his hands craved. However, he hated - with an absolute _burning_ passion - having to make decisions. With power comes the role of choosing, and with that, comes the obligation to think. And Frank _loved_ not having to think.

That was why Gerard's little games were so hard to resist - Gerard gave Frank, on a silver platter, everything he had to do. Although Gerard sometimes _bossed_ him around, he knew exactly what buttons to push to get Frank to do whatever he wanted without having to say anything. And Gerard wasn't the kind of person who half-assed things, so when he drew out a reaction from Frank, it was almost as if Frank was being _programmed_ to act out at maximum capacity. This made it extremely easy for Frank to distinguish his desires from his thoughts. 

With Gerard, Frank didn't have to _think -_ he just had to _want._

Frank also noticed that Gerard seemed to feed off of his excessive mental energy. Whenever Frank was done indulging Gerard's games, he noticed his own mind was unusually calm while Gerard seemed to almost vibrate out of his skin from the mental boost. Frank had seen Gerard burst into creative frenzies multiple times after they were done hooking up, sometimes running to his copy of their English play and writing down random literary observations or ripping his sketchbook open and scribbling drafts for future artworks. Gerard had the ability to take the buzz Frank often thought was unintelligible and translate it into comprehensive lines of thought - something Frank had struggled to do for his seventeen, almost _eighteen_ years of living.

Wait, did Gerard need that exchange just as much as he did? 

The thought of Gerard ever needing him was incredulous to the point that it made Frank chuckle to himself in the shower. No, there was no way; Gerard had already been that way before meeting Frank. Gerard already had the abilities of analyzing literature and creating art when they met - Frank thought that at most, he just sped up or facilitated the process. 

At this point, Frank realized he was definitely thinking about this far too deep, so he stepped out of the shower before he could dig himself into a mental hole he'd later struggle to get out of. If he stayed in the shower for even a few minutes longer, he'd probably end up rationalizing that Gerard was only using him for his own selfish purposes - and although that was a valid theory given the evidence he'd seen, Frank didn't want to allow himself to think like that for the time being.

When Frank laid in bed that night, he felt Gerard's absence like a loud siren in his bedroom.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"I think we're done." Gerard took a deep breath as he put his pen down.

Frank smiled at him. "Yeah? Is it good?" 

Gerard hummed, putting the cards back on the desk and closing his various colorful highlighters. "The notes you made were great, Frankie. I'm proud of you." He smiled back at Frank. "I'll hold on to the cards for now because I wanna swap out some words on yours. I won't change any points you made, just switch out some words for fancier ones so you sound even more eloquent. So we can really drive the point home, you know?" 

"You'll give them back to me on Monday?"

"Yeah. I can return them to you before the presentation." 

It was Friday evening, and although it was the perfect time of the week to hang out with friends, Frank and Gerard had the tiny issue of _no longer having any,_ so they were spending their Friday working on an English project instead. They had to admit - it wasn't the most exciting thing in the world. 

"Thanks for helping me," Frank thanked Gerard as genuinely as he could; he probably would've failed English if it weren't for his help. Gerard had more than earned his 'thank you.' "Don't know what I'd even be doing if it weren't for you."

"You had it in you all along, Frankie." Gerard lifted up a card and waved it in the air, "You wrote these notes by yourself." He then put the card down, standing up off his seat and slowly walking over to where Frank was sat on his bed. "I think… this deserves celebration, no?" 

Frank sighed and did nothing as Gerard approached, letting the taller boy slide into his lap and wrap his arms around his neck. "Do you think there's a chance I'll get the prize?" he asked Gerard innocently. "I could really benefit from acing an English exam."

"I'll take care of it. You've done your part and now you just have to trust me." Gerard played with Frank's hair gently, almost as if he was trying to soothe the boy under him. "You trust me, don't you?"

Frank didn't reply, because he didn't actually know the answer. _Did_ he trust Gerard? Frank had absolutely no idea how the other boy felt about him. At this point, he didn't even know what to believe. His head told him Gerard was simply using him for his own entertainment; but somewhere else, deeper down, he felt the inexplicable connection between the two of them like a pull that transcended any action he witnessed from Gerard. But was it just hopeful thinking? Was Frank only seeing something because he _wanted_ to, or because it was really there? 

Frank just stared back like the answer was hidden somewhere in Gerard's face. He must've sensed Frank's hesitation, because his expression suddenly looked more unguarded than Frank had ever seen it before.

"You don't trust me, Frankie?"

"I-I," he stuttered. "... I don't… know." 

Gerard's hands froze at Frank's scalp. _"You don't know?!"_

"Just..." Frank pushed Gerard off of him, placing him on the bed before walking across the room to sit down at the vanity. "I don't know what I'm supposed to think, Gerard."

Gerard sat back onto his hands and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Frank turned around in his seat to face away from Gerard and towards the mirror, looking down at his own hands rather than at his reflection. "I don't know what to think of you, Gerard. You play me all the time when you always have the option of just asking me for what you want. You _know_ I'll never say no to you. It's like you just play me for fun. You _like_ manipulating me." There was a long pause where none of the boys said anything at all, and after what felt like an eternity, Frank looked back up at Gerard through the mirror. "Do I even _mean_ anything to you?"

Gerard stared back at him, letting the previous silence settle in again for a few seconds before answering. "You really have no idea, do you?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"What?"

"I said," he spoke louder, "you really _don't_ fucking know, huh? You truly just have no idea."

"How am I supposed to know _anything?"_ Frank snapped back. "It's not like you tell me what's going on in your mind at all! I was the one who stood up to your shitty friends because you're not willing to defend me or what we have."

Gerard took a deep breath. "Frank, shut up."

"You think I'm just an idiot who's keeping you busy for the meantime. And I wasn't even-"

He interrupted Frank, "I said _shut up."_

Frank ignored his warning just like he'd ignored Hayley's earlier that week, continuing with his rant like Gerard hadn't said anything at all. "And I wasn't even entertaining enough for you, right? When I-"

 _"I said shut up!"_ Gerard yelled sharply, causing Frank to immediately stop talking out of shock. "You don't know what you're fucking talking about, Frank! You're just too fucking _blind_ to see what's right in front of you because you won't dig yourself out of your head _or_ dig your head out of your ass for five fucking seconds to look at what's around you!" He stood up off his bed, standing a few feet behind Frank from where he sat at the vanity. "I'm sorry, but if you don't see anything, you're just not _looking."_

Frank heard Gerard shuffling out of bed but didn't look up to face him through the mirror. It took him a while to phrase what he wanted to say. 

"I just don't..." he started but trailed off for a few seconds as he reworded his sentence. "I mean, I don't know how you ever even decided to side with Brendon throughout this whole thing." 

Gerard sighed in disbelief. "Oh is _that_ what this is about? You could've just said that from the start!" He chuckled, "So you don't trust me because I believed Brendon."

"Well, why did you?" 

Gerard's voice suddenly dropped in volume. "I don't have to explain anything to you, Frank," he mumbled.

"But why won't you?!" Frank turned around to finally face him head-on. "You don't _have_ to do anything. You never _had_ to help me in English. You could've just left me to sink and gotten the reward yourself because you _knew_ you'd win, especially if you had me look like a fool right next to you. You never _had_ to fuck me. You never _had_ to give me the light of day. But you _did._ So why won't you explain to me this simple thing? Why won't you tell me why you made this one choice?!" When Frank finished his line of thought, feeling shockingly rational, he realized he was reeling from the adrenaline rush of the argument. It was so cathartic to finally let out everything he'd been thinking over the past few weeks that he was almost _content_ in that moment.

"I don't have to explain anything to you," Gerard repeated, diverting his gaze away from him.

Frank groaned. _"But why don't you?"_ he repeated back. When Gerard didn't reply, he pressed again. "Why don't you?!" 

Gerard just stared back at the ground and crossed his arms to guard himself. Once again, he remained silent upon Frank's questioning.

"Oh my God, Gerard, why don't you just tell me? Are you really so closed off that you-"

"Because it happened to me, alright?!" Gerard snapped angrily, making Frank swallow his words instantly. "That's why I'm not living in France anymore." Frank didn't know if he remained silent out of respect for the other boy so he could keep on talking or if he'd been stunned silent by the revelation. 

Gerard shakily took a deep breath before he continued, "Someone spray-painted a slur on my locker and by chance, my mother went to pick me up at school that day. She confronted me about it and asked if I was gay. I didn't really want to tell her but she just kept on asking and..." he shut his eyes like he was trying to stop himself crying, "she kicked me out of her house. None of my relatives in France wanted to take me in so I had to come to Jersey to live with my dad. Mikey tried to argue with my mother but it was no use. He came with me so I wouldn't be alone." 

Frank was speechless for a few seconds. It clicked inside his brain that _this_ was what Mikey was referring to when he mentioned that Gerard would struggle to get over Brendon being outed. He stared back at Gerard, completely dumbfounded. "I… I'm-" he stuttered, "I'm sorry. I… I didn't… I didn't know."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ you didn't know, because you don't know jack shit of anything!" At this point, he was angry crying, but he wasn't staying silent anymore. "You're only ever thinking about yourself because you're incapable of stepping out of your own head! I thought you'd be capable of seeing what's right in front of you, but clearly you're _not!"_ Gerard uncrossed his arms, briefly letting them form an 'X' in the air before he threw them at his sides. "Clearly you're still a blind little shit. I can't tell if you don't see it because you don't _want_ to or because you really just _can't."_

"I really don't-"

"Get out of my house!" He yelled.

"Gerard, I-" Frank tried to plead but it was no use.

"You've said enough, Frank!" Gerard wiped his eyes on his sleeves. "I've heard enough of your shit for today. Now get out of my house." 

Frank sighed in annoyance but complied, picking up his backpack from where he'd left it on the floor by the vanity. However, as he swung it over his shoulder, the bag hit the mirror behind him, immediately shattering the glass before he could stop it. Frank recoiled right away but it was far too late; the reflective shards of glass were spread out everywhere, and when he looked down, Frank could see the bruising around his left eye in fragmented images all over the floor. He bent down to pick up the shards, but Gerard pushed him away.

"I told you to leave! Just go!"

Frank dropped the shard he held in his hand and walked out, not looking back at Gerard as he left the basement and ultimately the Way residence, getting into his car and driving off. For God knows how many minutes, Frank drove aimlessly - driving just for the sake of doing something. What on Earth was that feeling in his chest? It was the usual burning he felt, but there was something else now - something strangely sweet.

He drove a few times around the block as he tried to cool off. He hoped a clearer head would help him figure out what that feeling was. Frank had just gotten into a fight with Gerard, so why the hell did he feel so oddly relieved? Was that it, relief? It was definitely some sort of catharsis, Frank observed. It felt like the first sip of water after waking up hungover. Or the first sip of wine whenever he was feeling particularly anxious. It was on his fifth lap around the block that Frank realized what the hell he was feeling.

For the first time in a very, _very_ long while, Frank felt _alive._ Unquestionably and irrevocably alive.

He was giving and taking. He was pushing and being pushed back. He was loving and he was hurting. 

Frank was so undeniably alive in that moment that the pounding of his heart almost ripped a hole through his chest. 

Immediately, he stopped aimlessly driving around the block and took himself home. When he walked through the front door, the vigor in his step almost instantly alerted his mother that something strange was going on; Frank normally went through life as a remote-controlled zombie, so it took precisely two seconds for Linda to realize something was off. 

"Frankie, what's going on?"

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe at the entrance of the kitchen. "I got into a fight with Gerard."

"Oh God, did he hurt you?!" Understandably, Linda was now concerned about Frank getting into physical altercations after he got punched by Hayley Williams.

"No, not like that. I mean fight as in verbal. We got into an argument," he explained.

"Right… what happened?"

Frank started recounting to his mother what had happened. He thought to himself something about keeping it as succinct as possible. However, as soon as he started ranting about Gerard - about how he felt played and used - the words came out of his mouth like vomit. One sentence turned into two, which turned into four and then eight. Eight then turned into sixteen, and so on. Frank lost track of how much he was talking about Gerard, and only stopped when his mother eventually interrupted him.

"Frank, hold on," she raised her palm towards him, clearly signalling for him to stop talking, "how do you even _know_ Gerard doesn't care about you? Did he tell you this?"

"No, mom, the problem is that _he doesn't tell me anything!"_

"He doesn't need to tell you for you to know. You can see it before you hear it," Linda repeated the lesson she had given Frank a couple of weeks prior. "What would it take for you to see that Gerard actually likes you as a person?"

Frank thought about it. In the end, there was only one answer he could come up with.

"If he wrote the notes."

"Notes?" His mother scrunched up her face in confusion. "What notes?"

Ah, shit. Frank had totally forgotten that he had neglected to mention the mysterious notes to another human being. Linda had never heard about his elusive admirer - neither had anyone else. It was too late to take it back now, so he figured that he might as well tell her about the notes since he mentioned it anyways.

"Well… for about a month now, I've been getting these mysterious notes. Usually in my locker, but sometimes in my bag too. They're always signed 'Alejandro,' and they're linked to this Twitter account that tweets some really strange cryptic things."

"Hold on, did you say _Alejandro?"_ Linda dropped the wooden spoon she was holding, placing it on the kitchen counter and directing all of her attention towards Frank.

"Why? Does that name mean something to you?" 

Her jaw dropped. "It _doesn't_ to you?"

Frank shrugged indifferently. Was he supposed to know that name from somewhere in particular? 

"Show me the Twitter account," his mother ordered. 

He unlocked his phone and opened up Twitter, finding the account and handing his phone over to her. For a few moments, Linda just analyzed the profile, not giving any indication of any thoughts or opinions to Frank. Did she know something he didn't? After about a minute of scrolling, Linda placed the phone back in his hands and walked back towards the kitchen counter. She rolled up a magazine and returned to her spot across from Frank, whacking him upside the head with it. 

"Ow, what was that for?!"

Linda tossed the magazine back onto the counter. "For being an idiot." 

Frank frowned. "That's not a very appropriate thing to call your son."

"It _is_ when your son is being an actual idiot." She crossed her arms and glared at him with an incredibly judgemental gaze. 

"Are you gonna explain what I'm missing?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed annoyedly but still did as he asked. Linda grabbed the phone back from Frank and pointed towards the screen, "See this username, _@material_boy?_ And that bio, 'Cuz we are living in a material world, and I am a material boy'? Do you have any idea what that's referring to?"

Frank shook his head. He was lost. He didn't know that was a reference to anything. 

His mother reached into her pocket and grabbed her own phone, tapping around for a few moments before a cheery pop song started playing. Frank shot her a confused look but she only raised a finger at him, silently telling him to just sit still and listen for a while. About a minute into the song, he understood why she'd played it.

_"Cuz we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl..."_

Upon hearing those lyrics, Frank perked up and stared at his mother in shock. "What is this?!"

 _"This,"_ she paused the music, "is _Material Girl_ by Madonna. Probably one of, if not her most popular song of all time. I can't believe you just don't know this song." Linda cocked her head to the side. "Anyone you know happens to be a Madonna fan, Frankie? Maybe even someone I've met?"

"Uh… is there anything else? Are you gonna explain the Alejandro thing?"

She groaned but again did as she was asked. _"Alejandro_ is the name of a song by Lady Gaga, Frank. The music video is essentially a celebration of gay men and their strength. Any reasons why that'd be relevant to anyone you know?" Before he could reply, she started up again, "Speaking of Lady Gaga..." she scrolled down on Twitter for a few seconds and showed Frank the cryptic tweet he'd seen that day in study hall. "This is a reference to her song _Judas,_ which I also cannot believe is unknown to you. Anyone you know also happens to be a Lady Gaga fan?"

Slowly but surely, things were starting to fall into place. Was Gerard really the one behind all those notes and tweets? 

"So, Frankie, tell me: what does Gerard like, besides listening to Madonna and Lady Gaga?"

"He, uh…" Frank faltered, "he likes art. And, uh... reading. He loves literature."

His mother nodded slowly, "Mhm… has he mentioned any books in particular lately? Or tried to steer you _away_ from a certain book?"

Frank pondered on those questions. Quickly, he recalled how oddly panicked Gerard had been about Frank referencing Romeo and Juliet at lunch time that week. "Romeo and Juliet. He got really worried when I referenced Romeo and Ju- oh my God." 

Suddenly, like a wave of memories had been re-implanted into his brain, Frank remembered the weird stream of tweets from the night of his sleepover with Patrick and Pete. Then, he'd been too drunk to remember where he'd seen those quotes before, but now that he had Shakespeare already in his brain, he recited the words just like he'd done in seventh grade English class.

_"From ancient grudge break to new mutiny… parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow."_

His mother looked puzzled. "Yes, Frank, that is indeed Romeo and Juliet. Why are you reciting it all of a sudden?"

"He tweeted that!" Frank exclaimed. "The night of my sleepover with Patrick and Pete. He tweeted it in the middle of the night then deleted it soon afterwards. I knew it was familiar at the time but I didn't remember where I'd seen the words."

"Wow, Frankie. How on Earth is Romeo and Juliet relevant with you and Gerard? Two lovers from two rival groups who remain divided by an ancient conflict? Sounds totally unfamiliar..." she remarked sarcastically. "What about the physical notes? Have you ever seen Gerard's handwriting?"

Now that his mother mentioned it, Frank realized that throughout the entire duration of their English project, Gerard hadn't let Frank see his handwriting _once._ He thought back all the way to the day they'd first been paired.

_"Gimme your phone."_

_Frank raised an eyebrow. "... why?"_

_"So I can put my address on it," Gerard said candidly._

_"Why don't you just write it on a piece of paper? You're holding a pencil."_

_Gerard pursed his lips. "I don't trust you to keep a piece of paper until the end of the day."_

From the beginning, Gerard had the two of them keep separate notes. Although they'd been working together for three weeks, Gerard hadn't let Frank borrow his copy of _Waiting For Godot_ even when Frank forgot his copy inside his locker. 

"The pen..." Frank mumbled. "The pen."

"Pen? You mean he used a distinct pen to write the notes?"

Frank almost ripped his backpack open then, reaching for the piece of paper he'd used back at the Way residence to write the solution to the calculus problem Gerard had inspired him to solve. When he found it, sure enough - it was written in purple glitter pen.

_"Oh my God, Gerard! You're a genius!" Frank leapt out of Gerard's bed, grabbing a sheet of paper from inside his bag and taking a random pen from Gerard's pencil holder. Gerard tried taking the pen away from him but Frank quickly batted his hand away._

_"Ow! What the fuck? Also, thanks… I guess? I don't know what I said to get you this agitated."_

Frank showed his mom the sheet of paper. "I wrote this with a pen I took from Gerard's desk. It… it looks just like the pen from the notes."

Linda smiled at him. "So, Frank, are we starting to think maybe, _just maybe,_ Gerard is Alejandro?"

"But… I barely get these notes anymore. I used to get sometimes more than one a day, and in the past two weeks I've only gotten one in total. Clearly he's not interested anymore if he once was."

She didn't appear very impressed with Frank's logic. _"Or,_ he didn't feel like he needed to write you any more notes, because he already had what he wanted?! That thing being _you?"_ Linda sighed in exasperation. "God, no wonder Gerard told you off, boy! He's been trying to tell you how he feels but you just haven't been listening. Then on top of that, you kept on pressing him about what clearly was a traumatic experience for him. I'm thinking Gerard is an angel for not following in Hayley's footsteps and punching you for how you treated him."

"Oh God, mom..." Frank stared at the floor, dumbfounded. "I think I might have messed up."

"Yeah!" She laughed. "No kidding, Frank!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I want your love, I don't wanna be friends!"  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Now what did we think of THAT? 
> 
> This chapter was the first one I planned in detail, before I even started chap 1! I've been excited to write it for weeks and I'm so glad it's finally this chapter's turn to shine.
> 
> Fact: Frank got punched in the last chapter bc while I was writing that scene in chap 9 where Frank lied to Pete, I thought to myself "urgh, this mf needs to get punched." Then I realized "holy shit, I'm the writer. I control this universe." So I added a scene where Iero got fuckin punched
> 
> Also the fic now has 69666 words. NICE
> 
> Next chapter is called Perfect Illusion!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	13. Perfect Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank, in this fic: if i stop making bad decision. i dont stop because i did. no i didnt <3
> 
> **TW: Frank's dad being a piece of shit. Mentions of emotional/verbal abuse (mentions of him smashing an object of emotional value to Frank and just using mean language) but no physical/sexual abuse. Also hints of alcoholism. If you wanna avoid it, skip the bit in italics at the start.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Trying to get control, pressure's taking its toll.."

_"Get out of my sight!"_

_There was nothing Frank wanted to do more. If there was something he wanted to do then, it was to vanish from the spot where he inadvertently stood frozen. But instead of running, Frank's shoes stuck to the living room carpet, his eyes glued to his father who stood a few feet away from him by the liquor cabinet. Frank didn't realize it, but his right hand had taken a protective grip around the neck of his guitar the second his father walked in the room; in fact, his hand was clenching so tightly that the strings left six lines etched into the skin on his palm, almost cutting through the soft flesh._

_"Why are you still here?" His father yelled, taking a step closer to Frank then. "I don't wanna look at your face anymore, useless son of a bitch!"_

_He felt like he'd been punched in the gut by the harsh words, his lunch threatening to come right back up from the emotional blow. In place of running or throwing up, Frank only tightened his grip around the neck of his guitar even more, becoming increasingly aware of the pain in his hand from the push of the strings - particularly the three thinnest ones nearest his fingers. Although Frank understood the meaning of the words his father was throwing at him, he didn't fully process them. He acknowledged he was being ordered to do something but he couldn't make himself carry the order through no matter what._

_"Don't..." he started shakily, "Don't talk to me like that," he forced himself to say through grinded teeth._

_His father only laughed and took a large swig from the bottle in his hands, finishing it off. He waited a few seconds, letting Frank swim in his anxiety before he abruptly threw the bottle across the room, smashing it on a nearby wall._

_"You think that's funny?!" He shouted, "Think you're the big fucking man now?!"_

_"No..." Frank shook his head, still startled by the loud noise. Without thinking, he folded his arm behind his back, shielding the guitar from the other man with his own body._

_His father took notice of this, "You hiding that from me?"_

_Frank only gaped back at him in shock, eventually shaking his head vigorously. His father clearly didn't like this response, because he stomped towards Frank and reached behind his back._

_"Give me that!"_

_Frank tried to deflect his father's clumsy drunken moves, but his then fourteen-year-old self was severely outmatched, losing the battle when the older man yanked the guitar out of his hand's iron grip. Frank reached back out towards the instrument but his father simply batted his hand away angrily. He watched helplessly as the man handled his guitar with careless abandon, swinging it around like it weighed nothing at all._

_"This is so you learn to obey me when I tell you to do something."_

_Before Frank could even blink, his father raised the guitar high up in the air and brought it down towards the armrest of a lounge chair, instantly snapping the neck from the body. Frank felt a scream start to form in his throat but it never left his lips; he was petrified silent. He couldn't make himself move even an inch as he watched his father fling what was left of his guitar at the wall where he'd thrown the bottle earlier, a mess of glass and wooden fragments now painting the living room floor._

_Suddenly, a rush of energy pumped through his legs and Frank felt the powerful urge to run; as if he'd explode if he didn't bolt right that instant. He ran towards his bedroom and barely heard what his father yelled behind him; the only thing he took notice of in that moment was that the man in the living room didn't chase him, and that was more than good enough for Frank. He locked the door behind him and immediately slid down against it, taking a seat on the floor across from his now empty guitar stand._

_What to even do or think in a moment like this? If someone in the world knew, Frank certainly didn't. His biggest concern at the moment was his mother, who would soon arrive home and face the shark swimming in the waters deep below. Frank felt safe within what was possible in the lifeboat that was his bedroom, but he knew he'd jump back in the second he heard his mother open the front door. For now, however, he allowed himself to feel the illusion of security his room provided. The silence bouncing off the four walls of his bedroom made Frank realize one thing and one thing only:_

_He was so very powerless._

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Frank racked his drunken brain, trying to figure out how exactly he'd found himself in his current situation; everything was hazy when he thought back to what he'd done that evening. He eventually gave up on just trying to recall the past perfectly and instead decided to begin with the present. To start, Frank looked around him and remarked to himself everything he knew. It was Saturday night - and he knew that for a fact as he didn't have school that morning but still remembered fighting with Gerard the day prior. 

What about his surroundings? He was in a holding cell at his local police station. Frank figured that much, given the hard metal bench under his ass along with the metal bars separating him from the rest of the world. There was no one around him in the cell. Interesting, he thought; no one else in his Jersey town decided to get caught breaking the law that evening. Actually, was it still Saturday? It could very well be early Sunday morning. Frank didn't know how long he'd been in the holding cell due to alcohol related issues.

All he knew for a fact at that moment in time was that he was very drunk and he was caught committing some sort of crime. 

Actually, _was_ he caught breaking the law? He _must've_ been. The police didn't go around arresting white people for nothing. Although Frank - unlike Gerard - didn't tend to know things just for the sake of knowing them, he knew law enforcement was racist; he had moments of clarity like that sometimes.

What crime was he caught committing then? Frank was sure he'd remember breaking the law. Alright, what crimes _would_ he commit? Frank thought about it for some time and quickly decided that was a shit way of figuring it out since he'd probably break a wide variety of laws. What could he say? The US government was a massive party pooper. 

Frank then questioned - _how had he even gotten drunk in the first place?_ He was still seventeen, and although he was only about a week away from being eighteen, that was still _three years_ under the minimum age required to purchase alcohol in the United States. He was sure he didn't go to a party, so he must've gotten the booze himself. How did he buy it? Frank didn't have a fake ID and he sure as hell didn't look old enough to buy alcohol without getting carded.

Right. Frank couldn't remember how he bought alcohol because he hadn't _bought_ anything.

At that point, Frank was almost completely positive that he had stolen some random spirit from a convenience store. And, not-so-fun fact: shoplifting was illegal in New Jersey, as it was in every other state in the United States of America. 

The US government really _was_ a massive party pooper. 

Frank recapped to himself everything he knew at that point. He was in jail - check. He was in jail because he was caught shoplifting - check. He was shoplifting alcohol because he wanted to get drunk - check. 

Why was he even out? Frank knew his mother and he knew she certainly wouldn't give him permission to go out in order to live a life of crime. 

Oh. Of course, how could he have forgotten? He told her that he'd be spending the night with Mikey, as he was the only person Frank wasn't on _absolute shit_ terms with besides Jamia - who unfortunately lived a tad too far to be his excuse for the night.

 _Oh my God,_ Frank thought. Linda would kill him if she found out he'd gotten arrested. At that point, Frank couldn't even find it within his heart to get angry at anyone else. He couldn't get mad at Pete for feeling betrayed. He couldn't get mad at Patrick for getting angry about Frank breaking his promise. Really, Frank couldn't even get mad at Gerard for snapping at him. When Frank recounted everything he'd done in the past few weeks, he felt like maybe he deserved to be in a holding cell at the moment. He was angrier at himself than at any other living soul.

To start, he started a fling with someone from the group that had given his friend an incredibly hard time at school for the last two years. Then, he proceeded to lie to said friend about said fling even when directly asked. Frank also grabbed Brendon and yelled at h- no, nevermind. He already got punished for that one. On this front, his debts to the universe were considered paid. Getting punched by Hayley Williams was enough retribution, Frank felt. In terms of unpaid cosmic debt, Frank broke a promise to his other friend, was a dick to the person he was having a fling with, and now he'd lied to his mother about his whereabouts. Although he tried including his legal transgressions in his list of fuck-ups, even during a moment of shocking emotional clarity, Frank couldn't make himself give a shit about the law. 

Some things didn't change.

"Hello?" He then called out to no one in particular, hoping to get some sort of reply. When he didn't get any, Frank let his body flop down on the cold metal bench, laying on his back and looking up at the ceiling.

The longer he stayed in that drab holding cell, the more he sobered up. And the more he sobered up, the more Frank thought about Gerard. His main distraction from his thoughts was no longer there - and Frank's brain was becoming increasingly aware of the rise in activity. Frank remembered what it was like when he was put off his pills earlier that year; he recalled from a biology class he'd seen once that the withdrawal symptoms of a drug were often the opposite of that drug's effects. As a result, his insomnia became even worse when he stopped taking his sleeping pills. 

Gerard withdrawal meant Frank's brain was busier than it had ever been. 

_That_ was why he wanted to get drunk that evening, Frank then remembered. Gerard calmed his brain better than his sleeping pills ever did. Although the alcohol wasn't a good - or healthy - replacement, Frank found himself desperate for anything even remotely similar to the relief Gerard's presence provided him. He then found himself quoting a text he never thought he'd ever give two shits about. 

_"Teach me how I should forget to think, teach me how I should forget to think..."_ Frank mumbled to himself, reciting Romeo and Juliet like… Gerard. 

Frank sighed; how had he spent his entire life never giving a flying fuck about English, then a clever bastard with pastel sweaters comes along with his Madonna songs and suddenly Frank's quoting Shakespeare? He cursed Gerard even though the boy wouldn't hear him, "Fucking _Gerard,_ with his fucking sassy comments and mega IQ. Fucking Gerard and his stupid hair, stupid clothes, stupid smile, stupid lipgloss, stupid glitter, stupid notes, stupid bo-" 

His rant was interrupted by some loud knocking on metal bars and a sharp voice. "Hey!"

Frank turned to look at the source of the noise and to his surprise, saw a face he recognized.

 _"Mikey?!"_ Frank sat up on the bench and squinted to make sure he wasn't misidentifying the person standing outside the cell. "Is that you?"

The other boy simply rolled his eyes. "Who _else_ would come to pick you up in jail at three in the fucking morning on a Sunday? Idiot."

"My mom?" Frank shrugged.

Mikey just scoffed at his stupid response, "I think I'm a bit young to be your mother, am I not?"

"Uh… did you bail me out?" 

He scrunched up his nose like Frank had just asked the dumbest question in the world. "No, why the fuck would I spend hundreds of dollars on you? I talked to the shop owner and told her you were being peer pressured to steal the booze; your black eye helped sell the story. She talked to the cops and got the charges dropped. Wasn't too much trouble since the bottle you took was only twelve bucks so it counts as petty theft. I also _paid_ the twelve bucks for the shit you stole, so you're welcome."

Although it wasn't a crap load of money, Frank was surprised anyone out there would spend even a dollar on him at this point, let alone _twelve._ "How much do I owe you?" he thought to ask Mikey.

"For the booze? Twelve dollars. In emotional damages for having to talk to law enforcement? A hundred million."

"Was it that bad?"

"Clearly you've never spoken to a police officer," Mikey laughed. "Now get up. They already unlocked your cell. Let's go."

Frank did as he was told and got up from the bench, stumbling slightly as he walked over to the exit of his cell. Mikey glared at him judgmentally but didn't comment on his clumsy gait as Frank swung open the metal door.

"Enjoying your first few moments as a free man?" Mikey wondered when Frank stood still outside the cell.

"No," Frank denied. "I'm staying still so I don't hurl," he confessed.

Mikey linked his arm around Frank's to help steady him and started walking the drunk boy out of the police station. When they reached the parking lot, Frank saw the headlights of a car blink briefly as Mikey got into the driver's seat. However, before he could get into the passenger seat, Frank felt his hangover begin to settle in, and he barely made it to a nearby bush before his body forcibly ejected his stomach's contents onto the grass. He leaned over the bush for a few seconds and barfed a couple more times before the nausea subsided and was replaced with a pounding ache right behind his eyes. As Frank stood back up, gripping his forehead with his right hand as if it'd help with the pain, he heard Mikey groan annoyedly behind him. 

"How are you _so_ dumb _so_ consistently?" Mikey questioned, "Don't you get _tired_ of making such horrible decisions? Have you learned nothing over the past few weeks?" 

"Clearly," Frank motioned towards the police station and then to the bush, "I haven't learned _shit."_

"At this point I'm almost impressed; it's like you're putting effort into fucking yourself over," the younger boy observed. "Now if you're done throwing up, get in the car. _Only_ if you're done throwing up though. I feel like I've done enough for you without having your vomit all over my car," Mikey lectured, and Frank really had to understand the boy had a fair point. Mikey had already come out at three in the morning on a Sunday to pick him up at a police station, convinced the shop owner from whom he shoplifted alcohol to help get his charges dropped, _and_ paid for the booze he'd stolen. Mikey had truly done more than enough.

Frank found himself thanking God for Mikey Way for what was nowhere near the first time - and he had an inkling that it wouldn't be the last time either.

After a few seconds of standing next to the bush, Frank became sure that he was one-hundred-percent done ejecting his stomach contents and walked over to Mikey's car feeling somewhat like a new man. He got into the passenger seat and as he sat down, Frank realized he was missing a very crucial piece of information.

"Mikey?"

"Hm?" He hummed as he started backing out from the parking lot and into the street.

"How did you know where I was?"

Mikey took a serious tone as he replied, "Billie and Tré were smoking behind the convenience store when you got arrested at that alley. They took a video and sent it to the juniors' group chat."

 _"What?!"_ Frank exclaimed incredulously, mortified at the thought of dozens of sixteen-year-olds watching him get arrested.

Mikey suddenly burst into laughter but kept his eyes on the road as he drove. "I'm just fucking with you."

Frank sighed, feeling relieved for a few moments until Mikey continued.

"I mean… Billie and Tré _did_ take a video."

 _"Huh?!"_

"But..." Mikey removed one of his hands from the steering wheel to hold a finger up to Frank. "They only texted it to me. It didn't go to all the juniors."

The fact there was a video at all was mortifying enough to Frank, but he felt somewhat relieved that it hadn't in fact gone to all the juniors. Sure, three people having it was three people too many in his opinion, but it was infinitely better than an entire grade. "I guess that's good enough. As long as my mom doesn't find out."

Mikey put his free hand back on the steering wheel. "We can arrange that. However, you have to do something for me now."

Frank frowned, "Why?"

"Because!" Mikey took a turn into his street. "I got you out of jail since you were shoplifting - and got caught like a fucking idiot. You kinda owe me one, you know?"

"Oh God, what are you gonna have me do?"

Mikey grinned as he parked his car inside the driveway. "We're gonna solve some problems since you've probably had enough of causing them."

Frank thought that sounded great in theory, but he didn't know exactly _what_ problems they'd be tackling since he'd caused so many. "What are we gonna start with?"

The other boy undid his seatbelt and watched Frank as he did the same. "I'll tell you when you wake up in the morning, hopefully sober and not feeling like complete shit."

When Frank considered it for a while, he thought that getting a few hours of sleep and some water in his system before he went out solving problems was most definitely an excellent idea. He followed Mikey out of the car and remembered all too quickly that Mikey and Gerard were brothers, and consequently lived in the same house. "Is Gerard here?" Frank asked, feeling a little anxious about possibly seeing him.

"Uh, of course? He lives here, dude. Where else would he be?" the younger Way replied, confused for a few moments until he realized Frank's hesitation about seeing his brother. "By the way, Gerard is probably asleep right now. If he isn't, he won't come up to talk to us. He's a basement hermit on the weekends," Mikey assured.

Frank simply nodded and followed Mikey into the Way residence, making his way upstairs into Mikey's bedroom. The last - and only - time he'd been in there was during the party, when he got into his first argument with Pete. In a way, this was the exact spot where things had started going downhill. Mikey's bedroom was where Frank had lied to Pete about his involvement with Gerard, which was ultimately what pissed Pete off the most - even more than Frank's fling with Gerard. 

"You can lay down on my bed by the garbage can in case you throw up. I'll take the other side. Wait a sec while I grab some water from the kitchen," Mikey instructed, leaving Frank alone in his bedroom for a few moments as he ran downstairs. It wasn't long before he returned, a glass of water in hand as promised. He placed the glass on the bedside table by Frank and made his way to the opposite side of the bed, climbing into the covers eagerly. 

"Mikey, what about Pete?" Frank asked when the two of them settled into bed. "What happened with you guys?"

"Believe it or not, he wasn't too happy about the fact I knew you and Gerard had a thing."

"So you guys aren't together anymore?" 

Mikey shook his head. "Solving the problems you caused is also within my best interest, Frank. The problems you caused are the reasons why I don't have a boyfriend anymore. You're also why my brother is so fucking upset right now. I'm not just helping you because I think you earned it, because frankly, you've given me every reason _not to."_

"I'm sorry for acting like an idiot," Frank apologized earnestly. 

"You didn't just _act_ like an idiot. You _were_ an idiot," Mikey corrected him. "But you're only human - it happens. You're not an asshole if you make mistakes, Frank. You're an asshole if you don't care about how your mistakes affect others. You just need to start working on making amends now."

Frank smiled. "Thanks a lot. Even if you're not helping me purely out of selflessness."

"No problem," the other boy shrugged.

"I just feel like..." Frank mumbled, embarrassed about his vulnerability but the alcohol still in his system working to rip the words straight from his heart, "Gerard is so much smarter. He never makes mistakes like I do. I'm such a fool and he's always doing the right thing."

Mikey's eyes grew to the size of golf balls. "What do you mean Gerard never makes mistakes?!" He laughed loudly, "Gerard is wrong all the time! If you haven't seen him do something stupid, you just haven't been around him long enough."

"Come on, what stupid thing could Gerard possibly have done?" 

Frank thought his question would stump Mikey, but it seemed like he had a long mental list of bad decisions made by his brother, because he had an answer ready on the tip of his tongue, "On his sixteenth birthday, Gerard decided he wanted to dye his hair blue. You'd think dyeing your hair is simple enough right? Just bleach it then dye it."

"Yeah," Frank nodded, "there's like a million tutorials on YouTube."

"Well, he messed up _something,_ I still don't know what, and he didn't dye his hair fully. The dye only stuck to the roots of his hair and it was this strange teal shade instead of the electric blue that was on the package. He had these weird ass teal roots for like a week before he just re-dyed everything black and vowed to never try dyeing his own hair again."

The thought of Gerard messing up the process of dyeing his hair in such a strange manner was enough to get Frank laughing harder than he thought possible that night. "What?! How did he even manage that? If you asked me to dye only the roots of my hair I don't think I could do it on _purpose."_

"Me either, but Gerard makes those kinda mistakes every now and then. The ones that you can't even be mad at because you're genuinely impressed at how he'd even manage to do such a thing on purpose, let alone by accident."

"What else has Gerard done?" Frank found himself asking Mikey, eager to hear about the side of Gerard that made him so fundamentally human.

"Hm..." Mikey thought about it for a few seconds before his face lit up, "Ah! The first time Gerard bought makeup he totally forgot to buy makeup remover. He put on some eyeliner then tried taking it off in the shower when he realized he didn't have anything to remove it with."

Frank knew from wearing eyeliner every single day that it wasn't the kind of thing you could usually wash off with water and soap, so he was already anticipating the second half of the story before Mikey told him. 

"I think he looked like a racoon for like two days before he bought some remover wipes. He looked like a fool for about forty-eight hours though. That eyeliner was powerful as hell," Mikey finished, giggling slightly to himself at the memory. 

Frank laughed along with him, enjoying the lighthearted moment before Mikey spoke again, "As much as I'd love to laugh at my brother for hours, we need to sleep, dude. Drink some water then try to get some rest."

That sounded like a reasonable suggestion. Frank nodded in agreement and did as he was told, sipping slowly at the glass Mikey brought him to not upset his stomach more than necessary. He'd learned his lesson junior year when he woke up hungover for the first time and downed an entire glass of water in a few seconds - causing him to immediately throw up once he took his last gulp. Now, whenever he noticed his stomach was sensitive after drinking, Frank made sure to drink cautiously no matter how desperately his body begged for liquid.

Once he drank what he felt was enough water, Frank flopped back down onto Mikey's bed, trying his best to fall into a peaceful sleep. Although he did fall asleep eventually - thanks to the alcohol still in his system - Frank's slumber was all but restless. He barely felt a minute go by until he opened his eyes again, instantly squinting from the bright sunlight shining on his face. Frank didn't feel any more rested than he had felt earlier before he fell asleep, but once he woke up, he was fully alert. Frank turned around to talk to Mikey, but was faced with an empty bed. Though, when he reached out to touch the side of the bed where Mikey had slept, it was still warm, so Frank figured he'd just gotten out of bed. 

Sure enough, merely a few seconds later, Mikey walked back into his room, a toothbrush in his mouth and a few clothes in his hands.

"Put thith on," he said, speaking around his toothbrush as best he could and tossing the clothes onto the bed by Frank.

"Why?"

"We're going thomewhere," Mikey answered, walking back out of the room to presumably spit out his toothpaste. 

"Where are we going?" Frank yelled out.

Mikey took a few seconds to reply, but when he did, his voice was clearer than it had been before. "To start fixing things."

Frank squeezed his eyebrows together in confusion. "What problem are we tackling first?" he asked while he got dressed, watching Mikey as he walked back into the room. 

"We're fixing the original problem," he stated calmly.

 _"Original_ problem?"

"Yeah," Mikey raised his eyebrows and spoke slowly, like he was stating the obvious. "The problem that subsequently led to all the other ones. Your stupid rivalry."

Frank thought this was a fully unrealistic plan, considering how many people had made multiple attempts over the years to fix the foolish rivalry caused by Pete and Brendon's conflict back in sophomore year. "What do you mean? You know lots of people have already tried that, right?"

"I don't think anyone's tried my method of solving it."

"Huh?" Frank was fully lost; not only was he generally bad at problem-solving, but he was still a little hazy from being hungover and recently woken up too.

"We're gonna go directly to the source of the problem," Mikey explained, although it didn't really help Frank's understanding of his plan at all.

Frank finished pulling the shirt Mikey had given him over his head then. It was a little large, given that it likely belonged to Mikey, but it fit him alright and he couldn't find it in his heart to complain about being given clean clothing. "What do you mean?" he interrogated further. "We've all talked to Brendon and Pete a million and one times throughout the years, dude."

Mikey ignored his doubts, "Are you ready?"

"Why..?" Frank eyed him suspiciously.

"Whatever, I hope you are, because today's a very special day."

"Again, why? What are we doing?" he insisted. 

Mikey smiled at him and crossed his arms. "Well, what else? We're paying Mister and Mrs. Urie a visit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe you're just a dream. That's what it means to crush. Now that I'm waking up, I still feel the blow."  
> .  
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> [A/N: PLEASE PRACTICE SOCIAL DISTANCING AND WEAR A MASK! DO YOUR PART IN AVOIDING THE SPREAD OF COVID-19 MY DARLINGS! IT'S NOT VERY FABULOUS TO BE IGNORANT ABOUT THE SPREAD OF A DEADLY VIRUS.]
> 
> Can I get a "THANK GOD FOR MIKEY WAY?"
> 
> Next chapter is called Enigma!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	14. Enigma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Is what I'm seeing real, or is it just a sign?"

“I can't _believe_ I let you drag me to visit the Uries,” Frank shook his head in disbelief.

Mikey snorted. “To be fair, I didn't give you much of a choice in the matter.”

“You threatened to tell my mother I got arrested!”

“Yeah, you got arrested. And whose fault was that?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this over with,” he said, placing his hand lightly over the doorbell, not yet ringing it.

“I mean…” Mikey bit his lip like he was trying to contain his laughter, “Who even gets _caught_ shoplifting?” The other boy groaned to express his annoyance, but Mikey simply ignored him and continued, “Also, who steals just _twelve dollars_ of booze? If you’re gonna drink a twelve dollar bottle of vodka, you might as well just rob a gas station and drink diesel. Like, I don't condone shoplifting, but if you're gonna steal something, why not go big? Isn't the saying 'go big o-"

Frank interrupted him by ringing the doorbell. As they waited, he briefly wondered something about Mikey's choice of outfit, "Why did you pick out these boring preppy clothes for us? We look like... Republicans."

Mikey grinned. "I'm glad you're catching on, Frank. That's the whole point."

"Wha-"

Before Frank could wonder anything more, the sound of footsteps approaching from inside the house forced him silent, both boys subconsciously fixing their postures as they waited to greet the people behind the front door. Before it swung open, however, Mikey whispered one last thing to Frank.

"Just go along with whatever I say. When in doubt, stay quiet."

"Hello?" A middle aged woman greeted them at the porch, one hand still latched onto the door as she scanned the boys in front of her.

Mikey immediately took charge of the conversation, "Hi, Mrs. Urie?" he said, faking a polite smile. 

"Yes?" The woman raised her eyebrows in question.

"We're from the youth group at Brendon's high school," Mikey continued in a tone that shocked Frank with its formality. "We've been trying to help him out but he hasn't really been responding well to our attempts, so we're here in hopes to learn more about Brendon so we can provide more adequate help for him and his, uh, struggles."

Mrs. Urie frowned. "Is this about his…" she paused for a few moments, _"tendencies?"_ she whispered, as if she were afraid of the word and its implicit meaning.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am," Mikey nodded solemnly; Frank thought he played the role of brainwashed Catholic shockingly well. "If you could spare us just a few minutes of your time, we'd be ever so grateful."

Mrs. Urie eyed them for a while, spending long seconds staring at Frank's still-healing black eye before making her decision, "Alright," she stepped back into the house, leaving space for the boys to enter. "But only because I'm still in my church clothes. Come in, boys."

Mikey and Frank hesitantly breached the barrier between the outside world and the Urie residence. As soon as he walked in, Frank felt the suffocating aura of the house; all the walls were painted white, but there was hardly any room to look at the walls anyways. There were paintings of various religious figures everywhere, some of which Frank recognized from Sunday school, some familiar but unnamed in his mind, and others total strangers. And it was _freezing._ Frank didn't know if the house really was as cold as it felt, if there was a sudden draft, or if the chill down his spine was just due to the fact the religious decor reminded him too much of his father. However, unlike his father's place, there was no liquor cabinet or any alcohol at all within sight. 

Something told Frank that Brendon had lived an even more sheltered childhood than him.

"Do you boys want some water?" Mrs. Urie offered. Her tone was falsely kind; she felt anything but welcoming. 

Mikey wondered, "Do you have coffee?" 

"We don't drink coffee," she stated rigidly. 

"A glass of water sounds lovely, ma'am," Frank requested, making sure to sound as courteous as possible. Although he told himself he was only accepting the offer to sound polite, Frank was still hungover, so a glass of water sounded like a gift from the heavens to him. 

Moments later, Mrs. Urie reappeared with two glasses of water in hand, giving them over to the two boys before motioning for them to follow her into the living room. Although Frank could tell this was the living room, given that it was a wide room joined to a dining area, it looked way more like a sitting room than anything else. There was a small television on one corner of the room, but only a small loveseat faced it directly; it was surrounded by other small couches and armchairs in a circular arrangement and centered by a round coffee table, in what was clearly a design meant for conversation rather than entertainment. Unlike the living room in Frank's home - where the TV was the clear star of the living room - in the Uries' home, it seemed like the coffee table was the highlight of the living area instead. 

"Sit," Mrs. Urie ordered, and the two boys quickly obeyed, sitting down on the loveseat facing the television. 

Mikey placed his glass of water on the coffee table, but Frank clutched his own tightly in his hands, almost like a shield in the uncomfortable environment. 

"So," the older woman spoke again, taking her own seat a few feet away from Mikey and Frank in an armchair, "what would you like to know?" she asked. 

Mikey took charge of the conversation again, "We were just wondering, ma'am, about how Brendon's… uh… _tendencies_ \- like you described them - started. Did you ever suspect anything?" 

"Well..." Mrs. Urie glanced upwards as if recalling old memories. She shook her head from side to side contemplatively and took a deep breath before she begun, "I guess Brendon's holy path has always been… troubled. Ever since he was little, he'd struggle to grasp why we follow certain teachings, how we distinguish the ones to follow from the ones to leave aside. So I suppose I always knew to keep a closer eye on him than on his siblings." Her tone was strangely proper, and Frank felt like he was on the receiving end of a rehearsed speech rather than participating in a conversation.

"Brendon has siblings?" he asked before he could stop himself. Brendon had never mentioned having any brothers or sisters in the time that they were friends. Frank guessed Brendon just wasn't open about his home life in general; even though they were friends for a year before the rivalry started, Brendon always insisted in hosting sleepovers in a house other than his own.

"He does, yeah. Four older siblings. But they've all gone off to college and whatnot now," Mrs. Urie smiled with her mouth but not with her eyes. 

"So, ma'am, if you don't mind me asking..." Mikey started, his voice mellow like he was unsure of the question he was about to ask. "How did you find out about Brendon's… tendencies? Did anyone tell you?" 

"Oh, no," Mrs. Urie shook her head, "we found out ourselves. We decided that we'd start checking our kids' phones every week - you know how dangerous internet content can be. We always had them hand in their phones before bed, but we only started checking the phones that weekend. When we looked at Brendon's phone, we saw this conversation with a friend where he admitted to his… uh, tendencies."

Frank was sure that his eyebrows must've been up to his hairline at this revelation. "So _no one_ outed Brendon?!" he exclaimed at the woman across him right as the thought crossed his mind.

Mrs. Urie simply gave him a confused look, and Mikey stepped in before Frank could ruin their disguise as good Catholic boys any further, "What was this friend's name, do you remember? So we can, you know, investigate them as a possible influence."

"I think it was uh… Peter? Something like that."

 _Pete,_ Frank thought to himself. So it turns out no one was lying about their side of the story. Brendon apparently hadn't come out to anyone but Pete, and Pete also hadn't outed him. 

_How fucking anticlimatic,_ Frank groaned inwardly. What an underwhelming end to what was essentially a tangled yarn ball of problems. Or was it more like a snowball? Whatever. Frank didn't know how he envisioned the end of the rivalry between his friends and Brendon's, but it certainly wasn't like _this._ He took a sip of his water partly because he was thirsty, and partly because he needed to do _something_ with his body so he didn't implode.

Mikey must've noticed Frank's rising anxiety, because he tried wrapping up the conversation with Mrs. Urie even though it had barely started, "Uh, I think we have what we need, ma'am."

"What?" she frowned. "Already? But you just sat down."

"I know," Mikey shot her a tight-lipped smile, "but we've already overstayed our welcome. We have everything we need." He grabbed Frank and dragged him upwards, walking towards the front door with his back already turned to the woman in the living room. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Urie!" he yelled out, immediately shutting the door behind him. 

"God, Catholic people are terrifying," Frank panted as soon as the door was closed. 

Mikey nodded vigorously in agreement. "Is it just me, or was it strangely cold in there?"

"Definitely not just you," Frank put a hand over his heart in exasperation. "We are _never_ doing that again." 

"Can't argue that. My aunt is a _French nun_ and that woman," Mikey nodded back towards the Urie residence, "makes her look warm. Let's get going; I don't wanna be near this house anymore." He started walking back towards his car and Frank wordlessly followed him, rushing into the passenger seat to get away from that house as soon as possible.

When they made their way back out into the street, Frank observed to Mikey, "I guess the rivalry is over now."

Mikey agreed absentmindedly, "Guess so," he mumbled, watching the road as he drove.

"But what if Ray, Brendon, and Hayley don't believe us?" Frank wondered out loud, "How are we gonna prove that Brendon was kicked out of his house because his parents are nosy bastards?"

"Ah!" Mikey smiled. "I'm glad you're on the same line of thought as me. Even though you're a few hours behind."

"... huh?"

"I had that exact same thought… _before_ we got there. So, I set my phone to record our conversation for the whole time we were there," he explained.

Frank gasped loudly, "Mikey! Recording people without their consent is illegal!"

Mikey scrunched up his face like he'd just heard something ridiculous. "What? You care about the law now? Last I checked, I wasn't the one who got arrested within the last twenty-four hours."

It was a good point, considering that Frank really did not give a shit about the law. "I guess it's fine since we're only using it for the purposes of fixing our argument."

"Tell yourself that," Mikey joked.

"You're the one who recorded the conversation!"

"Yet my conscience remains perfectly clear," he said matter-of-factly.

Frank then asked, "Have _you_ ever been arrested?"

"No," Mikey laughed. "Unlike _someone_ I know, I can get away with committing a crime." Frank suddenly knew that Mikey would milk his brief run-in with the law for teasing material until the end of time. He could only hope that Mikey would stay quiet about it with Gerard, because if Gerard still had any hopes for Frank's intelligence, they would be instantly obliterated by the knowledge that he'd gotten arrested for shoplifting a twelve dollar bottle of booze.

"That's shady!" 

"'Shady'? That's gay slang, congratulations!" Mikey turned into his street then. "Did Gerard teach you that?"

"No! I learned it from an episode of Drag Race," Frank proudly proclaimed. 

The other boy sounded surprised by this announcement, "You've seen Drag Race?!"

"Uh..." Frank scratched his head nervously. "Just one episode."

"What?! How does one watch just _one_ episode of Drag Race?" Mikey was fully scandalized by this fact, punctuating his words by slapping his right hand on the steering wheel. "That's literally the most addictive show ever. What's more entertaining than a bunch of drag queens? How do you stop watching at only one episode?!"

"I just didn't understand the fashion aspect." Frank shrugged, although Mikey was focusing on parking his car in the driveway and would remain oblivious to the gesture. "That part where they're all on the runway and the judges are critiquing their clothes..? I don't get it. Like, I don't get why some clothes are bad and some are good."

"Damn," Mikey said as he shifted gears to park, switching the car off then. "I thought Gerard was only exaggerating when he said you're terrible at being gay. Turns out he kinda had a point."

Frank crossed his arms childishly. "Of _course_ he had a point. When doesn't he?" he murmured. 

"Hey, don't even go there, " Mikey warned. "Gerard messed up in this story too."

Frank frowned. "You're his brother."

"And?" Mikey raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't mean I'm blind to his mistakes. The fact Gerard and I were conceived by the same people doesn't make him right all the time. I can tell when he fucks up - which happens more often than you'd think, by the way. I told you this last night."

"Right, just… I don't know if he'll forgive me. Of course I'll forgive him for the mistakes he did make, but I can't tell if he'll forgive me for mine."

"Maybe not," Mikey admitted, "but you'll definitely get back together regardless," he stated nonchalantly. 

"What?" Frank was shocked at how sure Mikey seemed of this fact. "Why do you think that?"

 _"Please,"_ Mikey chuckled, "you guys are like… addicted to your relationship. You'll fight God before you quit each other."

Frank wanted to make a witty comment about how he hated Sunday school to the point where he probably would've fought God at age eleven, but he figured it likely wasn't the right moment for that, so instead he just asked, "What do you mean?" hoping Mikey would elaborate on his point further. 

"I mean that you and Gerard are addicted to each other and neither one of you is gonna quit. That's what I said," Mikey spoke like he'd made this observation a long time ago. "Especially since you're good for each other. If you were bad for Gerard, or vice versa, I would've gotten him to break it off one way or another ages ago."

"You think we're good for each other?"

"In a weird way, yes." Mikey paused for long seconds like he was trying to think of a way to properly word what he had in mind. After some moments of suspenseful silence, he said, "Neither one of you can be with someone you can't control. But you both like control in different ways, I think. You like having control in your head and Gerard likes having control in the real world. You like the idea of control while Gerard doesn't care for it, he just likes the process of making choices. Gerard likes having options but he hates carrying them out. And from what I can tell, you hate making decisions but like acting upon them. That's why you're a strangely good duo; Gerard thinks of things for you to carry out - which gives _him_ something to think about, and gives you something to do. Am I making sense here?" he asked, like he hadn't realized he'd been rambling slightly. 

_Yes._ Yes he fucking was, because Mikey had just put into words what Frank had struggled to rationalize for weeks. He just nodded slowly at Mikey, processing what he'd just been told. 

"To put it simply - Gerard likes to _think,_ and you don't. You like to _do,_ and Gerard doesn't. Therefore, Gerard thinks, and you do. I guess an even more accurate way of phrasing it is that you like _power,_ while Gerard likes _control._ You feel me?" Mikey raised his finger up to Frank's lips as soon as he parted them, "Ah! And before you can say anything stupid about that making you the inferior partner or whatever, think again! After all, a brain is just a useless lump of fat without a body to control." 

When Mikey removed his finger from his lips, Frank assumed it was alright to speak - and so he did. "That's the most accurate reading of Gerard and I that I've ever heard, dude. Why aren't you a therapist or something?"

"Because I'm seventeen," Mikey said monotonously.

"I just… I don't know why we're at the point that we're at right now, you know? I mean, I got punched for him and-" 

Before Frank could finish, Mikey interrupted, “No, Frank, you got punched for _you."_ Although his words were rather sharp, Mikey kept his tone leveled and careful. "Gerard never _told_ you to go and play the hero. He never _asked_ you to confront his friends. You made that decision all on your own and then you faced the consequences."

Frank had thought arguing with Gerard was tough, yet it seemed like arguing with Mikey was on a whole other level of difficulty. Gerard read into his words, but Mikey argued like he was reading straight into Frank's _brain,_ and in all honesty, Frank had no idea how to feel about that. 

Mikey took his silence as acquiescence, because he moved on like he'd won that part of the argument, "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"I can walk. Actually, I _want_ to walk. I think I need a good walk to clear my head." Frank absolutely despised any kind of physical activity, so he figured that forcing his body into it would give him something to put his mind to. 

Mikey didn't protest. "Suit yourself."

"Alright, thanks man. For… everything. Seriously," Frank thanked the boy across him as genuinely as he could; the younger Way had been equally as helpful as Gerard had been with English over the past few weeks. He deserved way more than just an acknowledgement, but Frank still didn't know how to repay Mikey in equal terms. 

"No problem," he smiled gently at Frank, who then turned to open the car door. As he stepped outside of the vehicle, Mikey called out, "Hey, Frank?"

He turned back around to face Mikey, "What?"

"When's your English presentation? You know, the one you worked on with Gerard?"

"It's tomorrow," Frank replied calmly. However, once he realized the true meaning of his words, his eyes widened in shock. "Fuck, it's _tomorrow._ And Gerard and I are still on shit terms. Should I go back inside and talk to him?"

 _"No!"_ Mikey yelled desperately, startling Frank and making him recoil slightly. "I mean, you should think things over a little before you have a serious conversation with Gerard again. If you talk to him now while the feelings are still hot, you might say something stupid and dig yourself further down this hole you've found yourself buried in."

He was right. Frank thought that he could definitely use some more time to ruminate on his situation with Gerard before the two of them spoke again - and there was no better place to start than his walk home. "Okay, I guess I'll just get going then. See ya." He waved Mikey goodbye and got out of the car, shutting the door behind him and taking a few seconds to reorient himself before making his way up the street. 

As soon as Frank left, Mikey took a long sigh of relief inside his car and leaned his head on the steering wheel. "Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath. He waited a few minutes until Frank turned a corner and vanished from sight to get into his house, immediately encountering Gerard once he walked past the entry hall. 

"Moikey," Gerard mumbled around a spoon stuffed into his mouth once he spotted his brother across the room. 

Mikey's eyes darted to the large tub in Gerard's hands right away, "Is that _ice cream?"_

"... yeah," Gerard replied quietly, taking another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. He was sitting on the couch covered by various blankets and looked awfully pallid, especially since the only lighting in the room was coming from the television. 

"Is _this_ your coping mechanism to help you get over your fight with Frank? Eating ridiculous amounts of ice cream in the dark?"

Gerard responded by shrugging and taking yet another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

Mikey deliberated, "Well, I guess it's better than what Frank did." When Gerard lit up in question, Mikey clarified, "He resorted to alcohol abuse and crime."

The absurdity of Mikey's revelation shocked Gerard so much that he almost choked on his spoon. _"What?!"_

"You know, I'm not even gonna explain that one. You need to ask him about it because I'm definitely _not_ the one to tell you what he's been up to in the last day or so." When Gerard groaned in displeasure, Mikey pleaded, "Trust me, you're gonna wanna hear it straight from him, because you're gonna wanna make fun of him for it when you find out what he did."

Gerard narrowed his eyes but accepted this answer, "Alright, fair enough." He ate some more ice cream before he thought to ask Mikey, "Where were you all day anyways?"

Mikey sassed, "Oh, I solved your stupid rivalry for you. Turns out Pete didn't out Brendon to his parents after all."

"Who told you _that?"_

"Brendon's mother."

Gerard dropped his spoon into the tub and gaped at Mikey in surprise. "You talked to her?"

"Yeah, I actually went out and did something while you were here moping like a lovesick fool."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "I'm not lovesick, I'm annoyed at Frank for acting like an idiot." He fished his spoon from the tub and took yet another spoonful from it into his mouth, essentially shutting himself up until he found something better to say.

"Would you be annoyed at him if you weren't lovesick?" Mikey reasoned, knowing he was completely right as the words left his lips. He didn't wait for Gerard to respond before he made his way to the kitchen, searching for a snack himself as he had skipped lunch to visit Mrs. Urie. 

Gerard yelled at him from the living room, "I don't even know what I see in him, Mikey. He's a punk himbo with like, one brain cell, and that brain cell can't even do _useful_ shit. It just has like… obscure calculus knowledge that hardly anyone needs," he whined, almost like he was talking to himself rather than to another person.

"Really? You don't know what you see in Frank?" 

"Why do you ask?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Mikey came back into the living room then with a pack of Oreos in his hands. "What I think is that you two feed into each others' need for control. I was just talking to Frank about this. I don't know if he was aware of it before but he certainly is now that I told him."

 _"Our need for control?"_ Gerard scorned. "That's not true."

"Well, it's more like _you_ have a need for control. Frank has a need for power. And you both fill in that need for each other." Mikey grabbed a cookie from the pack of Oreos, waving it around as he explained, "Basically, what I said to Frank is that you like control in the sense that you like making decisions but you don't like carrying them out. Meanwhile, he likes the opposite. He doesn't like thinking in order to make decisions, but he likes doing things. You like to think, he likes to do." He ate the cookie once he finished his rant, again knowing he was right as the words left his lips.

Gerard held his spoon in front of his face, freezing to consider Mikey's words for a few seconds. "That's a shockingly accurate analysis into our relationship."

"Funny you should say that, because Frank said the exact same thing when I told him what I thought."

His face scrunched up in disbelief, "The _exact_ same thing?!" 

"Well… he used slightly less eloquent terms," Mikey confessed. "But the general idea was the same."

"Interesting," Gerard nodded contemplatively. "Hey, Mikey?"

"Hm?"

"I've decided that I'm really gonna go through with it," he announced decisively, letting Mikey deduce what he meant by that.

The younger sibling seemed surprised by this, "I did convince him not to come in and talk to you just now. I figured that'd only mess with your head in terms of that. I thought you'd reconsider after all he said to you on Friday, though. "

"I thought I would too," Gerard agreed, "but somehow, I didn't." He ate another spoonful of ice cream before laughing lightly to himself. "Who knows, maybe _I'm_ the idiot in the story. And the thing is that I didn't even have to re-decide it. I decided it that day he solved his stupid math problem and even though I've seen him dance in circles acting like a fool many times since then, I didn't reconsider my decision even once." Gerard shook his head, as if he couldn't believe himself. "And the worst part is that there's a very fair chance he's gonna continue acting like an idiot."

"I actually think he's done being an idiot," Mikey stated genuinely. "At least I think he's done being _that_ much of an idiot."

Gerard scoffed. "I sure hope he is, because with the thing I have planned for tomorrow, he better fucking deserve it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Can't stop staring, I'm so naked..."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I can't believe we're down to the last 5 chapters! That's crazy! This fic is like my baby :')
> 
> Ah! Gerard Way is plotting again........... hehehehehe
> 
> Next chapter is called You and I (and it's another big one!)
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	15. You And I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter! It starts a little slow but I PROMISE it's VERY important.
> 
>  **I HAVE A LITTLE GIFT FOR YOU GUYS TODAY <3** when I started this fic, I made two playlists (one for Gerard, and one for Frank) so I could properly get into the ~vibes~ of these characters. I decided to create another acc on Spotify (I made the original lists on my personal) so I could share these playlists with you!!! So here you go!
> 
> [Frank](https://open.spotify.com/user/z9mddpqewvytx94ggcshq806s/playlist/2ltA8CLIZjeFclYeJSOcxJ?si=cOsQCPXGR9OxVMWz6wzSjQ)  
> [Gerard](https://open.spotify.com/user/z9mddpqewvytx94ggcshq806s/playlist/5eFzX1ueBuDqIpobuGZL4I?si=5TTnr8ibQdu2JrA5NrVcSg)  
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sit back down where you belong, in the corner of my bar with your high heels on!"

Frank barely got a wink of sleep between Sunday night and Monday morning. He was still readjusting to the lack of Gerard in his life, and his visit to the Urie residence had given him much to think about. Although he was aware of his English presentation waiting for him at first period that rising Monday morning, Frank was still busy mulling over the revelation he'd gotten earlier:

No one had outed Brendon. 

He didn't know what he'd expected; he certainly _didn't_ expect Pete to have been the one to do it, but Frank hoped for... a real culprit. A physical person he could pin the blame on. Someone he could grab, maybe throw a couple punches at, _something_ he could let out his anger on. 

Maybe he could T.P. Mister and Mrs. Urie's house, since they were technically the culprits and Frank thought their house looked super T.P-able. Frank did think _most_ houses looked T.P-able, since he loved messing with middle aged people - especially when they were shitty and homophobic - and Millennials didn't own real estate anyways. Halloween was approaching, and was there a better time of year to fuck with someone's house than that? If there was one thing Frank wanted to do on his eighteenth birthday, besides get pierced and maybe see Gerard, it was to prank some shitty ass old people. 

But that wasn't as satisfying as grabbing the physical manifestation of his social issues and facing them directly. Maybe if a student had been the one to out Brendon, it'd be easier to achieve the cathartic moment Frank been craving where he sunk that stupid rivalry six feet under. _No,_ Frank didn't want to _murder_ anyone, by 'six feet under' he only meant burying the rivalry far into the past. In all honesty, Frank was feeling like he'd been robbed of that type of relief. 

He put his palms over his eyes and dug the tips of his fingers into his hair. Frank had to find something new to cling to. His music was comforting, sure, but it wasn't _dulling_ like Gerard's presence was. If music was aspirin, Gerard was heroin. There was no comparison to be made. Alcohol and sleeping pills were maybe like codeine - more effective, but still offered nowhere close to the relief that Gerard did. 

Turns out Mikey might've been even more correct than he'd originally anticipated when he said Frank and Gerard were addicted to their relationship. 

Who the hell even was Mikey Way after all? What the hell did he know about Frank and Gerard's relationship? Clearly, he seemed to know a fuckton. And why was he so good at lying? Seriously, who on earth was Mikey Way? Why was he so sure that Frank would get back with Gerard?

Whatever. Mikey was right. Frank was silly to even _think_ Gerard could be replaced.

What Frank couldn't process about Mikey's statement, however - even though he'd ruminated on it during his walk home - was how Gerard's half of the deal factored into what Mikey told him. Frank knew how _he_ was addicted to their relationship, but how the hell was _Gerard_ hooked? He had no idea. All Frank knew for sure at that moment in time was that Gerard certainly cared about him more than he'd initially thought and that he was definitely feeling the withdrawal of being away from the other boy.

Frank got to the point where he was _craving_ for morning to come, because laying still on his bed was really getting on his nerves. If he got up and started getting ready, it would at least give him something to put his mind to. However, Frank absolutely _despised_ checking the clock. Because if it was too early to get up and do something - say two in the morning - it'd mean Frank had to face the reality that he was still condemned to hours of thinking. 

He hadn't picked out an outfit the night before because he _knew_ he'd be up long enough to eventually make an early start, and picking out his clothes for the day would give Frank something to _do._ Mikey really had been correct when he said Frank preferred _doing_ much more than _thinking._ Frank had always enjoyed mundane tasks; Linda never told him to do chores, because the disciplined work of washing dishes, vacuuming, ironing and the like, was something Frank did without being ordered. Although many people - both teenagers and adults - hated doing chores since they were boring, Frank liked them _because_ they were boring. 

They weren't like jigsaw puzzles, which Frank had always detested because they were far too stressful. It was too much rapid-fire thinking at once for his liking. _What if this piece fits he- no, there's another one I saw earlier that would fit better. Actually, that one doesn't have the right corners to fit- fuck!_ Frank had never completed a jigsaw puzzle in his life and he was one-hundred-percent okay with this fact. 

Ironing was the complete opposite of that. It was almost auto-pilot work: stretch out the item, slide the iron over that side, flip it over, do the other side, fold, then repeat with the next piece of clothing. It was simple, easy, and repetitive. However, Frank still had to apply some focus into it: switching the settings on the iron depending on the clothing material, popping collars on the button-ups his mother wore to work everyday, and watching out for his fingers to avoid burns. Tasks like that were good, Frank thought. They were easy yet not fully mindless. 

It was then that Frank decided he'd had enough. He would check his clock.

It couldn't be too tough. Just lean up onto his elbow, look to his right, and read the time. If he could just get his head off his pillow and roll over slightly, Frank could easily prop his arm under his back and slide up. He closed his eyes briefly and visualized the process of checking his clock. Why the fuck did it feel so hard when it was an action most people did absentmindedly? God, Frank wanted to rip his own hair out. _"Just check the fucking alarm clock already, goddamn it!"_ he whispered angrily, cursing himself for being such an annoying overthinker.

Frank then told himself he'd do it on the count of three. He would go on the three, he quickly decided. There would be no "Go" after the three. Just one, two, _three,_ and up he goes. He could do that. After all, Frank was better with numbers than he was at most things.

"One," he took a deep breath.

"Two."

 _"Three,"_ Frank launched himself upwards and forced his head to tilt right, glancing at his clock in a move that most people were more practiced in than he was. _5:38_ it read in red LED lights, bold and insolent. Bold and insolent like Gerard, Frank thought. 

Goddamnit, why was Gerard everywhere? Or, better yet, why did Frank _see_ him everywhere? It didn't seem fair at all. Did Gerard see him everywhere? Probably not. Frank knew that in many ways, Gerard didn't need him. In fact, Gerard likely didn't need him at all. Although if what Mikey said was true, there was more to what Gerard felt than what Frank could see. Frank didn't doubt that in the slightest - he knew his emotional intelligence was rather poor, so the fact he failed to see someone else's feelings wasn't a surprise. 

In that moment, Frank thought he'd had more than enough of his brain, so he decided to get up and get ready. He would just take extra long to do so. Frank jumped off his bed - making sure to get up on the right side as always - and switched on the lamp on his bedside table, giving him some light to navigate the room. Since he had loads of extra time that morning, Frank figured he might as well make his bed, so he started the methodical process of stretching out his sheets. He threw his pillows onto the floor while he straightened his sheets and folded his blankets, placing them back by his headboard when he was done. 

Although Frank didn't like admitting it, Gerard had pretty much conditioned him into becoming a morning shower kinda guy. Even if it meant he'd shower twice a day, Gerard had complimented him enough on his post-shower hair that Frank began associating morning showers with feeling sexy, which was never a bad thing in his opinion. So, as soon as Frank was done making his bed, straight into the shower he went. 

For some reason, Frank felt like he needed to be clean _for_ that day in particular. Like the day had something special for him in store which required him to look extra good. It might've been just him processing the end of his English project - which meant the end of time where Gerard was forced to hang out with him - or it could've been the excitement of his eighteenth birthday catching up to him. It also could've just been wishful thinking. Regardless, Frank felt the need to be super ready for what would've been a completely random Monday if it weren't for his English presentation. 

He made sure to get as clean as possible, lathering soap all over his body and even shampooing his hair twice. When he got out of the shower and dried himself, Frank reached for the lotion he usually saved for moments like these and sat on the closed lid of his toilet. He was perfectly aware that lots of people thought scented lotion was girly, but Frank couldn't give a shit about that when he rubbed his hands and smelled sweet vanilla with hints of sandalwood.

Whatever. Gender was an illusion anyways. 

He slowly rubbed the lotion on every inch of his skin he could comfortably reach with his hands - not like he was in a rush. Frank started quietly humming a song to himself as he did this. It wasn't a song he usually listened to, but somehow the melody stuck to his head like it was forcing him to hum it. He only realized what song it was when he reached the chorus, as it was the only part of the song to which he knew the words. 

_"... 'cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl..."_ Frank sang quietly, annoyed that Gerard had infiltrated himself into his personality so much that he was now singing Madonna when alone.

Gerard was like a stain Frank couldn't wash off. 

Correction: Gerard was like a stain Frank _didn't want_ to wash off. 

Frank simply sighed to himself as he closed his lotion and got up, this time searching for his deodorant as Frank was, in the end, still a teenager. He had always hated the smell of Axe deodorant - it reminded him too much of shitty straight boys in the locker room who disgusted Frank with their misogynistic and homophobic language - so even though he loved hygiene products, Frank avoided Axe at all costs. After all, he wasn't a shitty straight boy, so why would he smell like one? 

When Frank was done making himself smell good, he went back out into his bedroom and realized he still needed to pick an outfit. When he opened his closet, his mind instantly blanked. How does one pick out clothes? Maybe the lack of sleep was starting to mess with his brain, or maybe Gerard was the source of the little fashion knowledge he carried. Regardless, Frank had absolutely no idea what the hell he was going to wear. 

All too suddenly, he remembered the outfit his mother had picked out for him when he went to Mikey's party, and thought that was a pretty awesome assemble to go for when in doubt - which was definitely the situation Frank was finding himself in. He picked out the smooth black shirt his mother had given him and slipped it on, along with a pair of grey boxers and the black pants he wore to the party. One end of the biker chain had undone itself from the belt loop where it usually resided, and Frank struggled a little bit to hook it back into the loop. Sometimes his motor skills weren't that great.

Frank then went back into his bathroom and did his makeup like usual, but instead of brushing his hair into its usual right side sweep, that morning Frank felt compelled to just leave it as it was. Frank combed the dark locks to avoid having knots in them all day, but then shook his hands through it to give it a natural messy look. When this process was done, all that was left to do was pick accessories. He remembered what his mother told him about the outfit being 'monochrome,' thus allowing for bolder accessories. Whatever it was, Frank decided to reach for some of his rings and picked out the same necklaces his mom had chosen for the party. 

If it ain't broke, why fix it?

Frank then made his way downstairs and unlike most mornings, his mother wasn't awake yet by the time he got to the kitchen. It must've only been around a quarter past six, which was an hour before he usually got downstairs, so it wasn't a surprise when Frank arrived at the kitchen to find it empty. He thought to give his mom a break from cooking and make his own breakfast, opening a cupboard and grabbing a pan before reaching into the fridge for some eggs. 

He was almost done making his scrambled eggs when his mother walked into the kitchen and instantly saw what had happened to Frank overnight.

"Slow morning?" she asked, opening the fridge and taking an item Frank couldn't identify with his back turned. 'Slow morning,' was how Linda referred to the mornings where Frank got up earlier than usual to avoid the anxiety of laying in bed wide awake. Although it didn't happen all the time, it happened enough for her to notice a pattern whenever she went downstairs to find Frank already in the kitchen.

"Yep," he replied as he switched off the oven and tilted the pan over a plate. 

Linda moved to stand next to Frank and analyzed his look, "You're well dressed today."

He scrunched up his nose. "Am I badly dressed on other days?"

"No, Frankie," she laughed, gently pushing him aside to get in front of the oven and placing a carton of milk on the counter. "I mean you're more well put together today. I like what you did with your hair." Linda got on her tippy toes to grab a box of pancake mix on the cupboard that Frank had used the previous week, but she was unable to reach it and turned to her son for help. "Darling, can you grab that mix for me?"

He did as instructed and chuckled slightly. "You're like… the only person who would ask _me_ for help to reach something."

"Watch it, boy," his mother warned lightheartedly. "Don't go thinking you're Mister Tall Man because I asked you to grab something for me."

Frank laughed as he took his plate from the kitchen counter and placed it on the table, making his way to the toaster and placing a slice of bread in it, then turning to face his mother while she mixed some pancake batter. "Today's my English presentation," he thought to comment as he waited for his toast.

"Ah, the one you're doing with Gerard?" Frank hummed in agreement and his mother withdrew a ladle from a drawer. She looked back at him as she proceeded to ask, "Is he still mad at you?"

"I think so. We still haven't made up, so I _guess_ he's still mad," Frank shrugged. "And the worst part is that he has all my notes for the presentation since I gave them to him on Friday before we got into that fight. Depending on how mad he still is, he could totally fu-mess with my part of the presentation." 

"He won't do that," Linda stated with relaxed certainty as she poured some batter onto a pan, "Do you want some?" she offered. 

"Hm… just two," Frank accepted. "Thanks mom." 

She smiled kindly, as if wordlessly saying 'no problem,' returning to the topic of Frank's English presentation without further ado, "As I was saying, Gerard won't mess with your part of the presentation. That's not the kind of person I think he is, at least. Even if he's mad at you." She flipped her pancake before continuing, "I'm actually inclined to think he'd change your part of the presentation for the better rather than for the worst. Again, even if he's mad at you. I think the most he'd do is leave your notes as they are."

"I mean… he did tell me on Friday that he wanted to keep my cards to improve them a little. So I gue-" Frank was interrupted by the sound of the toaster behind him, indicating his toast was ready. He turned around to take it from the toaster and walked over to the table. 

"You were saying, boy? You guess..." his mother reminded him to continue what he was saying before being interrupted.

"Right, I guess that he did mean to make my notes better then. But that was before our fight," Frank started placing his scrambled eggs over his toast, "so I don't know if he'll still do it." 

"I think he will. Or something like that."

"I just can't help but feel like something's up today," Frank confessed before he took the first bite from his breakfast. He spoke through the chunk of food in his mouth, "I don't know what, but I just feel like something's strange going on."

"That's your intuition, darling. That means you've probably observed something and you've subconsciously connected the dots, but you're not aware of it yet," Linda explained, pouring batter on the pan again as she made more pancakes. "Also, don't talk with your mouth full."

He swallowed down. "My bad." Frank reflected on what his mother told him for a few minutes while he ate his food - what could he possibly have observed? He wasn't a very observant person in general. In fact, Frank tended to be oblivious as hell, as shown by the fact he never noticed Gerard was the one sending him those notes. 

Eventually, his mother joined him at the table, placing a plate with two pancakes on it in front of him. "Here you go."

"You made blueberry?!" Frank smiled - it was his favorite. 

Linda smiled back and nodded, "But of course." Frank knew his mom had likely chosen to make blueberry pancakes that day because he always felt a little shitty after having what she called 'slow mornings,' which only made him appreciate her even more.

"Thanks mom," he thanked her sincerely, immediately digging into the pancakes. They were infinitely better than the eggs he'd cooked. 

As Frank ate his pancakes, he prayed to any god looking out for him that Gerard wouldn't fuck him over during their presentation. 

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

When Frank sat down at English that morning, he swore he was about to _shit himself_ out of anxiety.

He wasn’t anxious in a way that would give him a panic attack. No, Frank was anxious in a way where he was frozen in place yet hyper aware of his surroundings - taking it all in. 

At the start of the class, the teacher had announced the order in which they’d be presenting - Frank and Gerard were fourth; Frank supposed that was better than being first or last. Although Gerard was sitting next to him - both boys near the back of the class where Frank usually sat - there was a heavy silence between them that Frank didn’t know how to break. Frank thought the other boy seemed like he’d gotten the same feeling about that day as he did, because Gerard was looking _particularly_ hot that morning. 

Or maybe the forbidden fruit always looked juicier. 

Whatever it was, Frank was almost in awe at how fucking hot Gerard was that day. For a few minutes, he totally forgot about his English presentation and just sat back in his chair so he could look at Gerard next to him, looking all pretty and delectable.

What an insufferable asshole. 

Gerard wasn’t doing anything besides _existing_ and Frank found himself infuriated at the boy’s perfection.

Frank couldn’t stand another second of looking at Gerard without being able to grab him and kiss him breathless, so he thought to talk to him in hopes Gerard would be sassy and annoying. 

He poked the other boy’s shoulder, whispering to him as to not disturb the people currently presenting, "Hey, uh..." Gerard raised his eyebrows, indicating he was listening. Frank continued, "Could you, uh… give me my cards?"

"No," Gerard replied curtly. 

"What?!"

"I'll give them to you when it's our turn to present," he explained, his tone indicating that he wouldn't be convinced to do otherwise no matter what. 

Frank frowned, "But… they're mine."

"And I'll return them to you when it's time for our presentation. I know you made it pretty clear that you don't, but can you just trust me on this one?" And... there was the sass Frank was hoping to hear. He thought it'd make him annoyed, or at least a little bit stressed, but instead Frank only felt happy to hear Gerard's sass again. It showed him that in the end, maybe not much had changed at all. When Frank didn't protest, Gerard turned his head to face the shorter boy and ordered bluntly, "Good, now just stay quiet and watch the presentations until it's our turn."

Frank wasn't pleased about Gerard's bossy tone but complied begrudgingly, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms as he rested his left foot onto his right knee. Frank couldn't read his mind, but it fully seemed like Gerard was still mad at him. 

_He probably fucked with my cards and doesn't want me to see it till the presentation,_ Frank thought, _great._

He simply accepted the fact he'd likely fail the assignment and that Gerard had decided to let him sink. He couldn't even be shocked; failing English wasn't exactly a new experience for Frank. The fact he'd even passed the class for this long was shocking in and of itself, so he figured his time to fully fail out had finally come. Not like he felt as if he deserved to ace it. 

Soon enough, two more presentations flew by, and the teacher called out for the two boys.

"Frank and Gerard?" She looked up to scan the class. "Beckett's use of hats?"

Frank was ripped out of his seat only by the force of Gerard physically grabbing his hand and leading him to the front of the room. When they got to a reasonable spot by the board, Gerard placed a stack of cards over the shorter boy's chest, his hand flat over the papers. 

"Whatever happens," he spoke seriously, "just read what's on your cards, got it?"

Frank nodded slowly to show he understood, as he was afraid his voice would crack if he spoke. He tried not to think too much about Gerard's hand on his chest and soon enough the other boy let go, stepping a few feet away from Frank as he looked down at his own cards. 

The two of them had agreed previously that Frank would be the one to start the presentation. However, as Frank opened his mouth to speak, Gerard beat him to it, talking loud and clear to the class. 

"Good morning! Today Frank and I will be presenting about Beckett's use of hats in _Waiting For Godot..."_

Huh. That was strange. Maybe Gerard had noticed Frank's anxiety and decided to take over the introduction. 

That was quite sweet, actually. 

However, before Frank could think more about how nice of Gerard it was to do that, the other boy continued talking, making Frank grimace in confusion.

"So, starting with Vladimir and Estragon, the two main characters in the play. Although both of these characters wear hats, what matters in our discussion is the fact they have different attitudes..." 

Hold on. That was Frank's part. Why was Gerard doing his bit? Maybe he changed the order over the weekend, Frank theorized.

To check, he glanced down at his cards for the first time. Immediately, Frank saw something strange. 

Mainly, _they were not his._

Those weren't the cards he'd written. In fact, Frank had never seen these cards at all. The content written on them was what they'd agreed Gerard would talk about. Upon further inspection, he noticed the handwriting and pen used to write on these cards were identical to what he'd seen on the notes he'd gotten for a few weeks. 

These cards were _Gerard's._

_Gerard had switched their cards._

When Frank tore his eyes away from the papers in his hands to look back up at the other boy - who was still talking - he saw Gerard wasn't even looking down at the cards in his hands. He was facing the audience comfortably, talking like… 

Talking like he'd rehearsed what he was saying. 

It was then that Frank realized: 

Gerard had switched their cards _on purpose._

Frank only didn't gasp out loud because he was shocked _beyond_ making a sound. He stared down at the cards in his hands wide-eyed - for how long had Gerard been planning this? He thought back to the previous week. 

_"I'm writing up my notes on the hats in a logical order now," Gerard explained, scribbling away at his notebook, "I suggest you do the same."_

_"What does it matter?" Frank whined, "I'll fail anyways."_

_"No you won't," Gerard stated with a suspicious amount of confidence._

_"And you know that how?"_

_He shrugged, "Just do."_

Frank was ripped out of his thoughts by Gerard clearing his throat, looked at him expectantly, indicating it was now his turn to speak. The shorter boy just stared at him and gaped like a fish, fully dumbfounded. Gerard glanced down at the cards in Frank's hands and quickly glanced back up as a reminder of his earlier advice. 

_"Whatever happens, just read what's on your cards, got it?"_

He could do that. 

Frank looked down at the cards and started reading their contents out loud, most of it being at least somewhat familiar from explanations Gerard had given him. As Frank spoke, he realized the notes were all things Gerard had mentioned before, but… _more._ They were more eloquent than the discussions the two of them had in the past, but still not so eloquent that it'd draw suspicion from the teacher about whether or not Frank had written them. Although there were a couple of new points, Gerard had hidden an explanation for each one of them within the content of the production itself, disguising it as meticulous clarifications for the audience. Frank then noticed:

Gerard hadn't set him up to fail.

Gerard had set him up to fucking _ace_ the assignment.

He hid his surprise as best he could while he wrapped up the presentation - like they'd discussed _Gerard_ would do - clutching his cards so hard that the left and right ends were bent out of shape. Frank barely noticed the half-assed applause from his class and only woke up to reality when his teacher addressed him.

"Frank," she called, waiting for him to look at her to continue, "tell me, what are the implications of Pozzo and Lucky's use of hats? Without reading your notes."

Frank heard Gerard's voice in his head just like he'd heard it that day they'd first hooked up.

_"So," Gerard said, enjoying the hold he had on Frank then, who was wholeheartedly captivated by him in that moment, "I was thinking…"_

_"About?" Frank asked, still hypnotized by Gerard's reflection, not looking away from it for even a split second._

_"The play."_

_Frank frowned, puzzled. "Play?"_

_"You know, Waiting For Godot? The play we're writing a project about?"_

_"Oh! Right." Frank felt like a little bit of an idiot, but tried to play it cool regardless. "What were you thinking?"_

_Gerard picked up a hairbrush, "I was thinking about how Pozzo and Lucky use hats. What's the relationship between the two characters?" he asked, styling his hair in the mirror._

_Frank felt his mouth go dry at the sight, but forced himself to answer Gerard's question. "Master and servant."_

_"Mhm, Pozzo being the master and Lucky being the servant. Now why is Lucky given that name if he is bound to servitude? Wouldn't anyone consider that an extremely unlucky situation?"_

_"Of course," Frank agreed._

_"There are two issues there, however. One, what is the main issue Vladimir and Estragon face throughout the play?"_

_"Uh..." Frank thought about it for some time. "I guess that they have nothing to do while they wait?"_

_"Yes. So, wouldn't you say Lucky is indeed lucky because he's the only one in the play who has something to do? He's the only character in the play with a purpose, even if it's a bad one. The other thing I wanted to bring up is that Pozzo is, in some ways, completely dependent on Lucky. He can't survive without his servant. Wouldn't that make Lucky the most powerful one in the relationship, then? If he can exist separately from Pozzo but Pozzo cannot exist without him?"_

_"Wait, how is all of this connected to the hats?"_

_"Will you calm down? I'm getting there." Gerard giggled, "So, we see in the play that Lucky is unable to think without his hat. Pozzo takes and gives back Lucky's hat as he pleases, using it to assert his power. You know the saying, 'knowledge is power'?"_

_Frank nodded, "Yeah, of course."_

_"So, what makes Pozzo and Lucky have a relationship of 'master and servant' isn't actually the fact they call themselves that, but rather the fact one character has the ability to control the other's access to knowledge. If we disregard this, the two of them both have power over one another." Gerard said, finally turning in his seat away from the vanity, leaning back on his elbows and facing Frank._

Frank smiled to himself at the realization he'd be able to confidently answer an English question for the first time since he began high school. 

"Well," he started, taking a deep breath, "we're told that the two of them have a master-servant relationship. Which is true, I guess. I mean, Pozzo walks Lucky around like a dog on a piece of rope. And we see this with the use of hats because Lucky can only think with his hat on, and Pozzo gives and takes the hat as he wants to show his power. But we see that Lucky also has power over his 'master' because Pozzo cannot exist without him. So," he then recited Gerard's words exactly, "what makes Pozzo and Lucky have a relationship of 'master and servant' isn't actually the fact they call themselves that, but rather the fact one character has the ability to control the other's access to knowledge. If we disregard this, the two of them both have power over one another," he finished, looking over at Gerard who was giving him a shy yet proud smile. 

"Wow," his teacher seemed genuinely surprised by what Frank had just said, "that's an excellent answer, Frank. Well done."

He'd just been genuinely congratulated by his English teacher. When the fuck had that ever happened to Frank before? Exactly... never. He made eye contact with Patrick then, who was down the room and appeared to be equally as surprised. 

He turned to Gerard and grinned at him before he could control himself. Frank _needed_ to talk to him. The teacher called up the next two people and Frank started walking in Gerard's direction. However, before he could reach him, Gerard turned away and bolted out the door. Frank wasn't discouraged by this and instead followed him into the hallway - he wouldn’t let Gerard go this time. 

“Wait!” he called out behind the raven-haired boy, jogging to catch up to him. “Why did you do that?”

He stopped walking but didn’t turn to look at Frank. “I don't need to explain anything to you.”

“You seem to love that sentence,” Frank observed.

“I'm perfectly neutral about it. You just give me lots of opportunities to say it.”

He ignored Gerard’s snarky comment and let a contemplative pause settle for a few seconds before he announced, “Gerard… _I know._ I know it now.”

Gerard instantly understood what he was referring to. “If you didn't find out the second I gave you my cards and you got a good look at my handwriting, I’d just think you were stupid.”

“You already think that,” Frank reasoned.

He heard Gerard laugh lightly. “You're not stupid. I think you just make bad decisions and sometimes act like an idiot.”

“I just don't understand…” Frank walked closer to Gerard and placed a hand on his shoulder, attempting to turn him around. The taller boy complied - much to Frank’s surprise - and when the two of them locked eyes, Frank saw there was an emotion on Gerard’s face that he hadn't seen previously. 

Even though Frank was horrible at reading people’s expressions, Gerard’s face screamed it so loud that he couldn’t _not_ see it.

It was acceptance.

“I don't understand… why did you do it? Why did you swap our cards?” Frank whispered, his hand still on Gerard’s shoulder and now their faces just inches apart.

Gerard shrugged indifferently but he looked down, and Frank knew right away that it was to hide whatever emotion was painting his face then.

"Gerard, I know you care about me. Maybe you love me or whatever, I don't know. I'm not really that good at reading emotions," he admitted, chuckling slightly. "But, you handed that presentation to me. I was gonna do alright with my notes, but you _knew_ your notes were lightyears ahead of mine. You tried to win me that reward, didn't you?"

The other boy shrugged again, but his silence told Frank everything he needed to know. 

"I don't know what I mean to you, but I know I'm more than just a fuckbuddy, Gerard," he took hold of Gerard's chin then, making their eyes meet again. "I know that now. Just tell me for once, blunt and clear, what do I mean to you?"

Gerard stayed silent, holding Frank's gaze like the only space in the universe that mattered was the one between their faces. Abruptly, he grabbed both sides of Frank's face and pulled him in for a kiss - simple and unafraid. Frank thought that kiss felt like what punctuation did in writing. 

It was either a beginning or an ending. Either a greeting or a goodbye.

When they parted, Gerard let go of his face completely and stepped backwards, straying further away from the boy in front of him.

"I can live without you, Frank," Gerard said matter-of-factly. 

Those words hit Frank like a sharp dagger to his chest. Was that the answer to his dichotomy regarding their kiss? Was it really a goodbye?

However, before Frank could worry too much, Gerard proceeded to smile at him, not his usual devilish grin - a gentle, unguarded expression like Frank had never seen before. When Gerard spoke again, it was as if his smile bled through his words. 

"But I don't want to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Something about lonely nights and my lipstick on your face..."  
> .  
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> .  
> .  
> I posted this chapter by accident before I was done with it and quickly deleted it, so if you got a notification for that I'm so sorry lol
> 
> Anyways what'd you think of that twist with the cards??? I came up with that before I even started chap 1 so I'm so happy it's finally the time to reveal it :)))
> 
> Next chapter is called Million Reasons!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	16. Million Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Can't you give me what I'm needing?"

“You asshole!” Frank groaned. “You knew that was gonna scare me!”

Gerard giggled cheekily. "Sorry, Frankie. I couldn't help it. You kinda deserved it anyways."

"Yeah," Frank really couldn't argue that. As soon as the realization that he was being given a second chance sunk in, Frank took a few steps forward to close the distance between the two of them again. However, before he could make a real move, Gerard raised his open palm in front of him, making the shorter boy freeze in his tracks.

"Ah! Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked, looking smug as all hell. 

Frank didn't even have to think about it for more than a few seconds to realize what Gerard was referring to. Immediately, he took hold of one of Gerard's hands and got down on one knee right then and there - in the middle of the hallway otherwise vacant if not for them. He took a deep breath before starting, "Gerard Way." Frank looked up at the other boy, who was now clearly trying to contain a smile as he looked down at Frank. "I am so sorry for being an idiot. And for being a dick," Frank apologized sincerely. "I never meant to hurt you with what I said. I didn't know any better," he removed one of his hands from where it rested atop Gerard's to scratch the back of his neck nervously. "I wish I could take back what I said to you. I was only thinking about myself at the time and I'm so sorry about that," he concluded hesitantly as he looked up at Gerard for approval.

"Anything else?" The other boy wondered, hinting there was something Frank was forgetting.

"Oh! I'm also sorry about your mirror," he added right away. When Gerard responded with nothing but silence, Frank shyly inquired, "Am I forgiven..?"

He simply pulled Frank up to a standing position again, still looking down at him due to their differences in height. Frank noticed Gerard's expression abruptly change from light and happy to sincere and concerned. 

"Frank, I need to ask..." he uttered, barely above a whisper.

"Hm?"

"I just need to know..." Gerard stalled, "Like, I know it's a serious question, but… I seriously need to ask..." he took a calming breath, and Frank felt like the other boy probably wasn't used to emotional conversations, as he broke the eye contact between them before asking, _"What do you want from me?"_

What _did_ Frank want from Gerard?

Frank didn't even need to think about the answer: he knew he wanted everything except a friendship. 

He could deal with being enemies, lovers, or a mixture of the two. 

But the normality of a friendship would be absolutely unbearable.

"I..." he started, briefly considering how he was going to phrase his answer. "I don't want to be your friend," Frank said, immediately cursing himself about how awful that likely came across, "Fuck. I didn't mean for that to sound rude. You're great. Just, fucking amazing. I really fucking mean that. But I can't _just_ be your friend, that's what I mean. Now that the rivalry is likely gonna end and we're probably gonna be in the same circle, I don't think I can deal with having something as casual as a friendship," he rambled, the words coming out of his mouth like word vomit. "Seeing you every day, so close yet so far..." he then trailed off, gazing at Gerard's currently unreadable expression.

Frank was momentarily worried about Gerard not understanding what he'd meant, but it seemed like the two of them were on the same page, because after a few moments, Gerard chuckled in relief as he reestablished the eye contact he'd broken timidly just a few moments ago.

"Fuck being friends," Gerard responded, once again shooting Frank an honest, gentle smile.

Before the two boys could say anything more, the bell rang, indicating a sudden wave of students was soon to flood the hallway they stood in. The sound seemed to snap Gerard right out of his emotional state, because his face sank back down to its usual indecipherable expression.

"Come on," he quickly grabbed Frank's hand and led him down the hall. 

Frank felt confused yet followed anyways, allowing the taller boy to drag him to whatever destination he had in mind. "Where are you taking me?"

This question went fully ignored by Gerard, who took a left turn down a narrower hallway when they came to an intersection between some lockers and a staircase. Frank thought he was being led to the janitor's closet - as this was the usual path they took there - but instead of turning into the dim-lit staircase that led down to their usual hook-up spot, Gerard led them into an empty Spanish classroom at the very end of the hallway. 

He shut the door behind Frank when they got inside, both of them straining their eyes slightly as the only lights in the room came from a small window on the door and the bulbs in the hallway - tiny rays only creeping into the room from the narrow gap between the door and the off-white vinyl floor tiles. 

"Mind explaining why we're skipping second period to hang out in an empty classroom?" Frank asked despite not really expecting a clear answer. 

Just as he predicted, Gerard's response was sassy and cryptic, "Mind explaining why you _let_ me drag you into an empty classroom so you could skip second period?"

"It better be a good reason, dude!" Frank whined, "I'm supposed to be in chem right now and I'm not exactly _good_ at that class, okay? We're meant to be revising for a test today and I really need that time because I'm not feeling so confident about the to-"

Gerard cut him off with a kiss that definitely should not be shared within the confines of a classroom, let alone during school hours. The mere force of the kiss knocked Frank backwards and before he could even _think_ to ask what the fuck was going on, his back hit the wall right next to the door and there were teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, pulling teasingly as Gerard clued him into the reason why he'd dragged him into an empty Spanish classroom. 

Frank couldn't help but smile into the kiss. _"This_ is what you dragged me here for? Just when I thought you were having a moment of emotional clarity..."

"Whatever it is you're accusing me of, I'm so fucking guilty," Gerard confessed as he stepped closer to Frank, trapping him against the wall. 

The other boy could read this particular look on Gerard's face from a mile away; he'd seen it too many times before to not recognize it. This was the expression Gerard had whenever he was plotting something he knew he'd enjoy. It was clear as day - the wild look in his eyes, the cheeky smirk on his face, and most importantly, the calm, leveled breathing that came with the security of knowing exactly what was about to happen. 

_"Gerard."_ Frank tried to warn, "This is just begging for trouble. We can't fuck in a _classroom._ There's a lesson going on just next door." It was true; the sound of a teacher lecturing in the classroom right next to them could be heard through the wall to Frank's left. It was muffled, but easily identifiable. Frank was positive there was probably an exam going on in the class to his right as he'd seen some students going that way while Gerard was leading him into the empty room they were currently in. 

Gerard didn't seem to give a flying fuck about any of that, because he simply stepped even closer and started giving teasing bites to the skin right under Frank's chin. "Let me tell you a secret about the two of us, Frankie," he moved his lips to rest lightly by Frank's ear, now whispering. 

"Without a little bit of trouble," Gerard admitted, "you'd go bored... and I think I'd go crazy."

"You're already crazy," Frank retorted. 

The taller boy pulled back and for a brief moment, Frank saw the gentle, honest smile he'd seen earlier return to Gerard's expression. His face came to rest just an inch away from Frank's - their noses now touching - and Frank _swore_ that he could see a soft blush on Gerard's cheeks. 

"Only for you, Frankie."

Yeah, that was it. That was the fatal blow. 

For a brief moment, Frank felt a sharp pain radiate through his chest from however many beats his heart skipped upon hearing those words. 

_Only for you._

God fucking damn it. Gerard really was a clever bastard. He knew Frank had a possessive side and instead of letting himself fall victim to it, Gerard had a way of giving Frank _exactly_ what he wanted while also getting what he wanted in the process too. If Frank's possessiveness was some sort of beast, Gerard had undoubtedly tamed it. 

However, Frank could tell that right now, Gerard wasn't just being manipulative. He wasn't saying that because he wanted to get laid; he was being sincere, and _that_ was why his words hit Frank as hard as they did. 

He found himself nodding, showing his consent to whatever absolutely wild shit Gerard currently had in mind. Frank only had one concern.

"How are we gonna… you know… keep it down?" he wondered. 

There seemed to be a part of Gerard's plan that covered this, because the devious look to his face returned immediately, eclipsing the emotional expression he briefly had. "Let me take care of that."

Right away, Gerard reached down to the buckle of Frank's belt and undid it with freakish dexterity, slipping the leather accessory right off without further ado. "Open up, Frankie," he instructed as he folded the belt in half. 

"What?"

"I said _open up,"_ Gerard repeated calmly but firmly. 

Frank felt a little suspicious but obeyed anyways, slowly parting his lips as he looked up at Gerard - fully perplexed. The other boy hummed contently, showing he was pleased with Frank's compliance, and he slipped the folded midsection of the belt horizontally between Frank's teeth before he could change his mind. 

"You're gonna want to bite down on that," Gerard advised. 

The shorter boy made a confused noise - questioning the motive behind Gerard's advice - but his answer came not even a second later when Gerard roughly palmed him through his jeans, causing Frank to dig his teeth into the leather to avoid making any sounds. 

"There you go," the taller boy praised. 

Frank wanted to tell Gerard that he was _fucking insane,_ but part of him feared that would make Gerard stop, and he really, _really_ did not want that to happen. So, Frank mentally recited a Hail Mary and settled in for the ride. 

"What if we played a little game?" Gerard smirked, seeming like he just got an idea, which was _never_ good news. The first thing that crossed Frank's mind was _'oh God, what?'_ but he thought he'd at least hear Gerard out before he got too scared. This was a clever choice, because Gerard soon added, "Let's see if I can make you drop this," as he ran his thumb over Frank's bottom lip distractedly. 

From his tone, Frank could guess that this game was mostly Gerard setting himself a challenge and that he wasn't really meant to give an opinion, so he only nodded his head slightly and hoped that'd show his agreement. 

Like the first time they'd hooked up, it seemed like the two of them were perfectly in tune, because Gerard understood this response and got on with what he had in mind. In a move that was similar to what he'd done at the party, Gerard roughly grabbed Frank's jaw, but unlike then, this time he latched his teeth to the side of the other boy's throat, holding him in place as he placed dark marks onto the pale skin. Frank channeled what would've been a moan through his teeth and bit down on the belt. He didn't get a break either, because Gerard seemed intent on winning the game he'd set for himself since he proceeded to slide a hand up Frank's shirt and scratched down the side of his ribcage, causing him to take a sharp breath in as he strained his jaw around the leather strap. 

However, the sound of a ringtone soon ripped through the air, and Frank felt a strong vibration come from his left pocket. He huffed in annoyance but Gerard seemed completely unperturbed by the interruption. 

"Answer it," he ordered, removing the belt from Frank's mouth and dropping it to the floor.

"Huh?"

"Frank, if you don't answer your phone right the fuck now," he gestured towards a table placed right in the center of the room, in perfect view from the tiny window on the front door for anyone who walked down the hallway, "I'm gonna sit on that table and I will finger myself until someone sees us and puts us both in detention until we graduate."

Coming from anyone else, Frank would've called this off as a bluff. However, coming from _Gerard,_ this threat had _a lot_ more weight to it. 

"Oh my God, you're so fucking crazy," Frank gaped at the boy in front of him.

"I'm about to show you crazy if you don't pick up the phone _now."_

Frank didn't know it, but Gerard was about to show him crazy even if he _did_ pick up the phone. 

Because he didn't want to risk it, Frank reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone with his eyes still glued to Gerard, answering it without even checking the caller I.D. 

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Hello?"

"Hey, Frank, are you busy right now?" It was Mikey, and Frank could tell it was rather urgent from the tone of his voice.

"Uh..." Frank stammered, "It uh… it depends on how you define 'busy.' Why?"

Gerard shot him a satisfied grin when he saw Frank was getting into a conversation and without further warning, dropped to his knees right then and there.

_Oh God._

"I need you to come with me to the mall. Like, as soon as humanly possible," Mikey said, sounding a little desperate.

Frank heard some scrambling on the floor, and when he looked down at Gerard, he saw the boy picking up the belt he'd dropped earlier. He shut his eyes, hoping to ignore Gerard while he was on the phone, but soon Frank felt something thick wrapping around his ankles. Puzzled, he opened his eyes again to face Gerard, only to see him buckling the belt, essentially tying Frank's ankles together - fully immobilizing him. 

_What the fuck was Gerard up to?_

"Why do you need me to go to the mall with you?" Frank asked Mikey through the phone.

"I need to get Pete a gift because I'm gonna try making up with him today. We're gonna try to solve the whole rivalry thing at lunch and I need to be back at school by then with my gift," Mikey explained. "You were friends with Pete for a long time so you can help me pick one."

Frank groaned, "Can't you…" he was interrupted by Gerard's firm hands on his hips pinning him to the wall. He used his thumb to lift up Frank's shirt a few inches above his waist and started placing open mouthed kisses on the newly exposed flesh, moving downwards slowly but surely. Frank almost choked on the breath he was about to inhale but forced himself to answer Mikey properly. "Fuck, dude, can't you… I don't know, take Patrick instead?"

"Would Patrick ditch school for me?" the younger Way argued back without missing a beat. 

It was then that Gerard curled his fingers into the waistband of Frank's jeans and pulled them down just an inch, digging his thumbs into the skin beneath the other boy's hip bones without breaking the eye contact between them for even a split second. Frank saw Gerard's tongue snake its way out of his mouth for only a brief moment before it buried itself between the material of Frank's boxers and his bare flesh, right where his stomach met his hips - a pair of emerald green eyes staring up at him like they were trying to drag every single oxygen molecule out of his lungs. Frank felt just about every hair on his body stand up like he'd been electrocuted; he struggled slightly against the belt wrapped around his ankles but it was no use, especially with Gerard's iron grip on his waist.

Some time must have elapsed since Mikey last spoke, because he called out for Frank again, "Uh… Frank? You still there, man?"

Frank took a deep breath, hoping that'd calm him down so his voice didn't quiver when he answered Mikey. "Yeah, sorry," he gave a haphazard apology, still captivated by Gerard, who hadn't given up on his teasing - or his intense staring.

"So, are you coming or not dude?"

"Mikey..." Frank complained, "Can't this happen another time? Literally any moment _but_ this one?"

It seemed like Gerard wasn't satisfied just yet, because he removed his tongue from where it rested on Frank's navel and instead placed it flat above the zipper on his jeans, applying a soft yet firm pressure that had Frank's spine run cold. 

"No! Can you meet me at the front gates right now? I'm sorry if you're busy but this is really important. Besides, you owe me one."

"Fine. But trust me," Frank grunted through his teeth, _"you're_ the one who owes me after this."

"... do I _want_ to know?" 

He sighed. "Definitely not."

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"So..." Ray muttered thoughtfully, like he was struggling to process the brand new information, "You're telling me… no one outed Brendon?"

"I was just as confused when I found out," Frank agreed. 

Hayley turned to Brendon, "Beeb," she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "was that really your mother?"

"Yeah," he nodded solemnly, "that was definitely her. Mikey's telling the truth."

"That's crazy," Ray shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe we had this fight for so long just because Brendon's parents didn't know how to respect his privacy. That kinda sucks. Really bad."

Everyone present nodded in agreement. If there was one thing they all had in common, it was that they were greatly inconvenienced by the Uries' nosiness. Patrick thought to ask, "Are you guys, uh..." he crossed his arms anxiously, "are you willing to make up?" he wondered, mostly to Hayley.

She asked in return, facing Pete rather than Patrick, "Are you?"

"I'd much rather make up than have you guys continue to pester me, if I'm being honest," Pete admitted.

Ray winced in regret, "I'm so sorry, man," he apologized genuinely. It was pretty easy to tell Ray truly felt bad about everything he'd done to bother Pete over the past few years. 

"It's alright," Pete said, even though it wasn't. 

"So..." Frank bit his lip as he continued hesitantly, "Friends again?"

Brendon and Ray nodded, but Hayley remained perfectly still, eyes narrowed as she stared intently at Frank, who was starting to feel like he was being analyzed. After long seconds, she uttered a quiet, "Friends," nodding subtly. Although Frank wasn't too sure of it, it seemed like he'd passed whatever test she'd just put him through in her head. 

"Um… in case you guys are interested… my birthday is this Sunday and I think that's a good place to start. So if you all wanna come over, you can. No need to bring gifts or anything," Frank suggested, hoping to not be turned down too harshly in case they weren't up for it.

Instead, Ray replied, "Sure," appearing to be genuinely excited for the occasion. 

Hayley and Brendon didn't say anything, but they also didn't protest, so it seemed like the event was officially on. Frank couldn't believe it - the rivalry was over, just like that. Him and Gerard were cool again, just like that. In the span of a few hours, it was like he'd fixed all of his ongoing problems.

… except for _one,_ which Frank had almost completely forgotten about until someone called out for him as he left school that afternoon, Gerard by his side and not a care in the world. 

"Hey, Iero!" 

Frank turned to face the source of the voice, which was none other than Billie Joe. 

_Oh God,_ Frank silently hoped, _not now._

It seemed like Billie really was up for it _now_ though, because he motioned for Frank to approach, "C'mere!"

Even though Frank _really_ didn't want to, he approached Billie anyways, who was sitting on the sidewalk just outside the school gates with Tré. Gerard followed curiously behind him, his nimble hand curled around Frank's bicep.

"If it isn't the man, the myth, the legend, Frank Iero!" Tré announced excitedly. When his tone didn't have even a hint of a mocking tinge to it, Frank started to feel a little confused. Weren't they going to make fun of him for being arrested? Especially considering they were _there_ when it happened?

"Frank, we saw the pigs come for you on Saturday, my man," Billie Joe stated somberly.

Tré added, "And we wanted to congratulate you, dude!" he said happily. "You're a fucking legend!"

"Huh?" Frank was properly confused now - they were _congratulating_ him for getting arrested?

"What are they talking about?" Gerard chimed in.

_Oh no._

Before Frank could stop him, Billie explained, "Frank got fucking arrested on Saturday! Tré and I wanted to congratulate him because we're happy there's someone else fighting the system!"

Gerard gasped, "Frankie, is that true?" he turned to face the shorter boy, who by now was hiding his face in his hands, fully mortified.

He nodded ashamedly. Whatever. Gerard was going to find out eventually. 

"Anyways," Tré started as he reached into his pockets, "we wanted to give you a little present for what you did."

Frank looked up to see Tré extending his arm out to him, a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

"You're giving me cigarettes?"

Billie smiled, "Not exactly. Open it."

When Frank opened the pack, he was met with eight expertly rolled joints tightly packed into the box. He turned to gape at Gerard only to see he was equally as surprised, gaping right back at Frank - probably even more surprised considering he'd only _just_ learned about Frank's run-in with the law. 

"Congratulations, Frank!" Tré exclaimed like he was giving a toast. 

"Yeah!" Billie agreed. "And fuck the system!"

Frank nodded and smiled politely, feeling strangely refreshed from the odd interaction. He waved at the other two boys before making his way to his car, Gerard still quietly wrapped around his arm. When they finally sat inside Frank's car, Gerard immediately smiled at the other boy through the rearview mirror, showing his amusement with what he'd just heard.

"I didn't know you were an outlaw, Frankie. I leave you to your devices for _one fucking day_ and you get arrested."

"Yeah, I was hoping you wouldn't find out," Frank sighed as he turned his key in the ignition. "But, yeah. You're free to ask questions now, I guess."

"What'd you get arrested for?" Gerard asked right away.

Frank started maneuvering out of the school parking lot. "Shoplifting."

Gerard seemed to find this reply particularly delightful, because he giggled upon hearing it. "What'd you steal?" he asked teasingly, drawing out every syllable as if he'd just heard a juicy piece of gossip.

"Vodka." Frank avoided telling Gerard the value of the bottle he'd stolen.

"You stole alcohol?! Do you have a criminal record now?" 

"No." Frank clarified, "Mikey was the one to pick me up in jail and he managed to get all my charges dropped. Talked to a few people. I don't know how he did it so don't ask me questions there."

Gerard appeared to understand, "Mikey does things like that from time to time. He could probably arrest a cop if he put his mind to it."

Frank laughed, "Tell me about it."

They talked about the incident for the rest of the drive to Gerard's place. Frank came clean about why he'd stolen the booze, and Gerard admitted his coping mechanism involving excessive amounts of ice cream. When they parked at the Way residence, Gerard turned to Frank with his usual cheeky smile. 

"Frankie… you in the mood to get super high?"

Like usual, Frank wasn't in a position to say no. 

Before he knew it, they were down in Gerard's bedroom smoking what was either the third or the fourth blunt of the afternoon. Gerard was laying on the ground flat on his back - gazing dreamily at the ceiling - while Frank sat cross-legged right next to him, also on the ground and facing him straight on. 

"Frankie?" he called, tearing his eyes away from the ceiling and towards Frank, who held the tip of the current joint between his lips.

"Hm?"

Gerard cackled - a dazed, very obviously stoned laugh - and raised his hand to Frank's face, indicating he wanted a round with the joint. "We need to talk about your relationship with the law, Frankie," he joked. "First you're shoplifting, and now you're smoking the devil's grass? Did you learn nothing from the time you got arrested?"

Frank brought the joint to Gerard's lips and held it there as he took a hit. "Oh fuck off," he cussed, although he was smiling as he did so.

Gerard blew some smoke towards Frank's face, surrounding the other boy in a cloud of grassy fumes before he continued, "You know," Gerard commented offhandedly, "if you liked getting put in handcuffs, I could do that for you. No need to go around breaking the law."

"Where would you even get handcuffs?" Frank shot him a puzzled look.

"What makes you think I don't already own a pair?" Gerard smirked, "You don't know the life I lived before we met."

"No, but I didn't know you lived as a sexual deviant!" Frank raised the joint back to his own lips, taking a shallow hit as he laughed halfway through his inhale.

"Frank, we're gay."

He rolled his eyes, "No shit."

Gerard smacked Frank's chest playfully, "I'm not saying that to sass you, you idiot!" He burst back into a bout of high giggles, "I'm saying we're gay because that means we're _both_ sexual deviants _by default!_ Also, I'm pretty sure you liked it that time you choked me."

 _"I did not!"_ Frank gasped, scandalized. 

"You so did!" Gerard taunted, "It's alright, Frankie. We all have a kink or two... or five, in your case."

 _"Five?!_ That is not true. You're the freaky one."

"Never said I wasn't."

"Name the five you have in mind for me, then," Frank placed the joint in Gerard's hand and proceeded to cross his arms. He thought this would stump Gerard, but he clearly had given this some thought, because he had a list ready on the tip of his tongue.

"Choking, bruises, hair pulling, spanking..."

"That's only four," Frank noted. He wasn't the smartest person on earth, but he definitely knew his numbers. Frank wasn't even going to try arguing against the ones Gerard had already listed, because he could see from a hundred miles away that he'd lose that argument. 

"... and," Gerard waved the joint around slightly as he talked, "you like being bitten."

"So do you!" 

"I'm not the one denying anything here, Frankie. That's you." He shrugged like he had no shame at all. 

"You're so shameless. Like you don't have guilty pleasures," Frank observed. 

Gerard smiled and took a hit before replying, "Because my pleasures are nothing to feel guilty about."

Frank let out a loud groan, "I both hate it and love it when you say shit like that. You're so old and wise yet so young and full of life."

"That's very insightful, Frankie," Gerard handed the joint back to Frank, which was only big enough for one or two hits at this point. 

Frank suddenly remembered something he'd been wanting to ask for a while now. "Hey Gerard?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember that day we switched outfits? When you did your makeup on me and I did the same on you?" The other boy nodded, and Frank could see it was a fond memory for Gerard because he grinned as Frank recalled that afternoon. "So, remember how you told me something in French?"

"Yeah."

"What did you say to me?" he questioned.

"I said that I didn't know what I saw in you," Gerard replied sincerely. "Then I called you a charming fool."

Frank gasped loudly, "You… you think I'm _charming?"_

This obviously wasn't the reply Gerard was expecting, because he shot Frank a skeptical look as he answered, _"That's_ what you took away from what I just told you?!" he cackled again, sounding happy and _so_ stoned. 

"Well..." Frank took one last hit before putting the blunt out on a porcelain tray resting on Gerard's desk. He scratched his head nervously. "It's just that… you're the most charming person I've ever met, so the fact you think I'm charming is sorta, like… really flattering."

"I can't believe you sometimes," Gerard shook his head and reached up to run his fingers gently through the dark strands of Frank's hair, "my charming fool."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away. But, baby, I only need one good one to stay."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I loved writing Gerard in this chapter. Because he's such a smart character, I feel like maybe you guys forget just how utterly crazy he can be sometimes. That first scene was your reminder.
> 
> Next chapter is called Shallow!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	17. Shallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the most sickeningly sweet thing I've ever written. If you wanted some fluff... this is it, man
> 
> TW: minor homophobia (just one nasty comment, no f slur)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In all the good times I find myself longing for change, and in the bad times I fear myself."

That Sunday morning, a Gerard-shaped hurricane burst into Frank's bedroom with no invitation or prior warning. Frank was in the process of selecting his outfit for the day - which he was failing at - when Gerard kicked the bedroom door open, almost ripping it off its hinges and startling the boy inside to the point he let out a short scream and a few angry expletives.

“AH!” Frank raised a hand to his chest. “Jesus fucking Christ. Motherfucker, can't you knock?!” 

The Gerard-shaped hurricane stormed towards Frank, and before he knew it, both of them were stumbling to the floor.

“Happy birthday Frankie!” Gerard yelled, fully unbothered by the fact they were on the ground. Every ounce of anger Frank felt over being surprised quickly dissipated when Gerard leaned down and placed exaggerated kisses all over his face, placing sticky lip gloss prints everywhere and holding Frank’s cheeks firmly in his hands - so the birthday boy had no choice but to endure the affectionate attack.

“Thanks,” Frank huffed out through a few surprised giggles. “You could've knocked, you know.”

Gerard sat back up, still straddling him but now placing both his hands on Frank’s chest to hold himself up. “Your mom told me to surprise you.”

“To be honest, she had a point. This is a pretty good birthday surprise.”

“I got you a gift,” Gerard wiggled his hips happily, “and I got us matching costumes for tonight.”

Frank raised his eyebrows in disbelief rather than in shock. “You decided what I'm wearing for Halloween?” Somehow, this fact wasn't surprising at all.

“Yes,” Gerard stated as if that were the only acceptable option for the occasion. “I'm gonna be the fabulous Morticia Addams and you," he pressed his index finger above Frank's heart, "are gonna be my Gomez.” 

In all honesty, Frank really didn't care about the costume as long as he got to spend his time with Gerard doing Halloween stuff. If he looked spooky, earned a shitload of candy, and got to hang out with a cute boy, Halloween was bound to be awesome. Although he was feeling quite anxious about Hayley, Ray, and Brendon coming over that afternoon, he felt like the simple fact they'd all put their guns down was already enough of a gift - even if their friendships were never truly rekindled. 

"Oh!" Gerard's face lit up abruptly, as if he'd just remembered something. "I have good news! Can't believe I almost forgot."

"What is it?"

Gerard bit his lip through a grin. "Guess who aced their next English exam?"

Frank's jaw would've dropped to the floor had he not already been on the ground. _"I won?!"_

"I told you that you wouldn't fail," Gerard said playfully. "You know, this is why you should listen to me."

Frank took the next few moments to glance up and simply _look_ at Gerard. He was glowing in the morning light; Gerard's ensemble for that day consisted of a white sweater that was about two sizes too big on him, a daisy flower crown, and nails that were freshly painted a honey yellow. His makeup was done the way Frank had come to expect - a soft glitter on his cheekbones complemented by the subtle shine of his lip gloss. Even though most of it had rubbed off on Frank's face by now, there were still some remnants of the shiny substance on Gerard’s face. Or it might've just been the serene sun rays shining straight onto Gerard from the window like a natural spotlight.

In all, Gerard looked angelic. 

A sudden thought occurred to Frank - he was going to remember this exact moment for a long time. He didn't exactly know _why_ yet, but it felt like this moment was important. Like he _had_ to commit it to memory.

"Hello?" Gerard waved a hand in front of Frank's face, "Earth to Frankie?"

Frank snapped out of his thoughts. "Yeah?"

The other boy grinned at him from above, and Frank could've sworn the sight was accompanied by the sound of an angel choir. "Captivated by my inhuman beauty?" he asked sarcastically.

Gerard was more on-point than he knew. 

Frank just giggled nervously, hoping it wouldn't be too obvious that he actually _was_ captivated by Gerard's inhuman beauty. 

"Come on," Gerard motioned, getting off of Frank and standing back up. "You still need to get dressed."

"I was already doing that," Frank sat up, still on the floor. "You know, when you stormed into my bedroom and scared me so bad I thought I was gonna shit myself."

"Did you already pick out an outfit?" Gerard proceeded to ask. He looked like he had an idea, which made Frank feel only slightly unnerved.

"No… I was kinda struggling with that when you came in," he revealed hesitantly, rubbing his knee as a self-assuring action.

Gerard gasped obnoxiously. "Can I dress you then?" 

"Didn't you already pick out my costume for tonight?"

"Well, yeah, but can I _please_ dress you?!" he kneeled back on the ground across from Frank, his hands clasped together in a pleading gesture. _"Come on_ Frankie! It's gonna be so fun! I'm gonna make you look so hot, come on! Please?"

Gerard seemed so genuinely excited at the prospect of picking Frank an outfit that the birthday boy didn't have it in his heart to oppose. 

He sighed, "Alright, go ahead. You know I can't say 'no' to you."

Gerard gave him a wide smile that was almost childish from the simple joy it carried. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he once again grabbed Frank's face and covered it in exaggerated kisses. "I promise you won't regret it."

He stood back up, this time going straight to where Frank kept his clothes and immediately reaching inside the already open closet. From where he was sitting on the floor, Frank couldn't see very well what Gerard was doing, but he figured that didn't matter anyways since he was better off trusting Gerard's fashion sense than his own.

Right away, Gerard picked out a black button-up shirt Frank didn't even remember he owned. "Why have I never seen you wearing this, Frankie?" he wondered out loud, holding the hanger in his right hand as he smoothed out the shirt with his left, a coy smile painted across his face.

Frank shrugged. "Dunno. Guess I didn't really know how to style it."

"Lucky for you, you have a boyfriend who does," Gerard commented nonchalantly. 

_Boyfriend._ Frank felt his cheeks flare up at the mention of that word. It was the first time either of them had used it to describe their relationship, but it didn't feel like the _beginning_ of anything - only the _acknowledgment_ of it. Not like Frank was about to protest that title, of course. He wasn't _stupid -_ or at least he liked to believe he wasn't.

"Right," he smiled shyly and opted to just agree with Gerard. "Lucky for me."

"You're definitely wearing this," Gerard hooked the hanger around a closet handle, putting the button-up shirt aside as he reached back into the closet. While he buried his arm into Frank's clothes, a phone started ringing, and Frank took a few seconds to process that he'd be receiving phone calls throughout the day given that it was, in fact, his eighteenth birthday. 

He raised himself off the floor and made his way to his desk where he'd left his phone. Frank immediately smiled once he saw the name on the screen.

_Jamia._

He picked up the phone within a split second. "Hey!" 

A loud voice shot through the speakers, "Happy motherfucking birthday!"

Frank flinched from the sudden auditory attack, moving his phone further away from his ear in a reflex. "Thanks," he laughed, finding a certain humor in Jamia's excitement. 

"Are you coming into the city today?" She asked, her voice now at an acceptable volume. 

Frank placed his phone back over his ear. "Yeah, I'm getting a piercing and my mom doesn't trust anyone in Jersey to do it," he answered. "I'm taking the first train after four." 

"Eesh, that's usually a tough time to get a train into the city. Although it _is_ Sunday, it's also Halloween so it might be fuller than it usually is on the weekends."

"I know. Tough luck, I guess." Frank then remembered that Jamia actually _lived_ in New York, which meant the two of them could _meet up._ "Dude, do you wanna go with me? To get my piercing? I need moral support, you know."

"Sure," Jamia agreed enthusiastically. "What about Gerard though? Are you guys cool?"

"Oh yeah," Frank giggled. "The two of us are cool. There were some problems last week but it's all fine. I don't think Gerard will want to come with me, though."

Gerard immediately perked up on the other side of the room. "What are you saying about me?!" he shouted, looking displeased at the fact he wasn't part of the conversation.

"Why not? Also, is he there, by the way?" Jamia asked through the phone.

Frank made sure to speak loud and clear so Gerard could hear him. He made direct eye contact with the other boy as he answered Jamia's question, "I was just saying Gerard won't come with me to get my piercing because he's _so_ scared of needles."

"I'm guessing he's there, then. Put me on speaker phone!" Jamia demanded.

"Why?"

"I wanna talk to him. Just do it, Frank."

"You two are always telling me what to do..." Frank complained but still hit the _speaker_ button on his phone. He turned to Gerard, "This is Jamia, my best friend. She wants to talk to you. She's on speaker."

He momentarily worried Gerard wouldn't like the hasty introduction, but he seemed eager to meet Jamia, because he marched to where Frank was and snatched the phone right out of his hands. 

Gerard put the phone off speaker and raised it towards his ear. "Hey, it's Gerard."

Some time elapsed before he started laughing abruptly, like he'd heard the punchline of a joke. "Oh my God!" he placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. "Tell me everything, Jamia. I have a feeling we're gonna be great friends."

Frank had to ask, "What are you guys talking about?"

"Gimme a second, I gotta tell Frank to put on the outfit I picked for him." Gerard turned to face the other boy, "Jamia's telling me some embarrassing stories about twelve-year-old you." He pointed to some clothes on Frank's bed, "Put those on, c'mon. Take a shower too."

Frank pouted, "You guys are definitely gonna get along. The two of you are always bossing me around..." 

Gerard ran his fingers through Frank's fringe and booped the tip of his nose. "Yup." He reached over to Frank's bed and grabbed the clothes he'd separated, shoving them onto Frank's chest. "Now go and put this on. Don't do your hair, makeup, or accessories. I'll do that."

He rolled his eyes but grabbed the clothes, not even bothering to check what outfit Gerard had picked out. The boy quickly flopped down onto Frank's bed, crossing his legs and twirling his hair, "So, Jamia, tell me everything..."

When Frank stepped into the shower, he could still hear Gerard's girly giggles echoing through the wall.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"It's all gonna be fine, Frankie."

"No it isn't!" Frank threw his hands up into his hair, which was still slightly damp from his shower. He felt his heart flutter in his chest - beating lightly yet quickly like it was trying to escape the space between his lungs. Frank's ears were burning and he felt like he was about to have a heart attack. "They're gonna get here and we're all gonna fight again. Brendon's gonna cry, Ray's gonna make that disappointed face that always makes me feel like shit, and Hayley's gonna punch me again. Fuck. What if-"

"First of all, shut up," Gerard interrupted Frank's anxious rambling curtly. "Patrick, Pete, and Mikey are gonna hear you from the living room and they're gonna start feeling worried. Second of all, it's all gonna be _fine._ They haven't messed with you all week, right? On Monday you guys all agreed to try being friends again. That means they're willing to make an effort. Hayley's not gonna punch you again. Brendon feels like shit about the rivalry already, and Ray is like… the nicest person ever. He probably just wants to give you a hug."

Frank frowned but didn't argue back, feeling a little more reassured already. Gerard was making sense. "I just can't help but feel like it's all gonna go south," he mumbled.

"There's a small chance it might," Gerard confessed. "But even if it does, I'll be there. We have each other. Look at me, Frankie," he cupped the boy's cheeks and rubbed at the skin affectionately with his thumbs. "The two of us will be just fine. The worst has already passed, yeah?"

Frank nodded slowly, feeling increasingly tranquilized the more he looked at Gerard. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Gerard was right. The worst was in the past. Ray, Brendon, and Hayley had already agreed to try and rekindle their friendships. They hadn't done anything even slightly rude or mean all week. Even if things went badly, which wasn't very likely in the first place, Frank had Gerard there. His hands were warm and steady on his skin and it was all okay.

The more he rationalized it, the more he felt his heart take a normal pace inside his chest again. 

"Oh," Linda stumbled upon them in the kitchen, instantly freezing by the door frame once she saw the boys in such an intimate position. "Am I interrupting something?"

Frank turned to face her, but Gerard was the one who spoke, "Oh no, I was just telling Frankie that it's all gonna be okay with Ray, Brendon, and Hayley," he replied, withdrawing one of his hands from Frank's face but keeping the other where it rested on his cheek.

Once she took a proper look at Frank, Linda's expression immediately softened. "Oh God, Frank, you look like you've seen a ghost!" She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but spoke to Gerard, "How long do we have until the others get here?"

"About ten minutes," he replied.

"That should be long enough for me to give my gift," Linda tilted her head from side to side contemplatively. "Come with me, boys."

Gerard pointed at himself, "Me too?"

"Yes. My gift is either gonna make Frank feel great or terrible, so in case it doesn't go down well, I want you to be there."

She led them upstairs into her bedroom, where Frank could see a tall box by the closet wrapped in shiny silver paper. Linda placed her hand cautiously over the box and warned, "Now, listen, I can return this gift if you don't like it, Frankie. It's gonna be either a huge hit or a huge miss. I won't be offended if you tell me that you don't wanna keep it. If you don't like it, I'll return it and you can keep the money to get something for yourself. If you do, I got a bunch of accessories as well."

Frank nodded like he understood but was feeling rather puzzled. Why would he ever want to return a gift from his mom? She handed him a pair of scissors and signaled that it was okay for him to dig in, so he kneeled on the floor by the box and started working into the wrapper. Once he got a good opening he dropped the scissors and tore it open with his hands - they were more efficient anyways. 

After the wrapping paper was gone, Linda grabbed the box and laid it on the ground. "It's gonna be better if you open it this way."

He felt a little confused but continued unboxing his present. As soon as he opened the box within the wrapper, however, he understood everything his mother had said about the gift. 

Inside the box, staring right back at Frank, was an electric guitar. 

Not just any guitar - a brand new black Les Paul.

He reached into the box and wrapped his hands around the neck delicately, scared of damaging the precious instrument even the tiniest bit as he pulled it out of the box and held it upright. Frank ran his fingers over the strings in awe, admiring how beautiful and simply _perfect_ this guitar was. 

"Mom… this is a Les Paul. It must've cost a fortune..." he commented absentmindedly as he continued gazing at it, completely dumbstruck by the gift. 

"It wasn't _cheap,_ mind you. But it's your eighteenth birthday, Frankie. You're my only son. I couldn't just get you _anything._ Did you like it?"

 _Did he like it?!_ Frank was currently thinking about all the dishes he'd have to wash to even _begin_ to make it up to his mom from how many hours she must've worked to afford this guitar. He must've gotten completely lost in thought again as he admired it, because the next voice he heard was Gerard's anguished one. 

"Oh my fucking God, Frank! Just tell your mom if you liked the gift or not! This is starting to stress me out. She looks so worried!"

Frank chuckled in disbelief. How could he hate this? He gently lowered the guitar back into the box before he got up and wrapped his mother in a tight hug, spinning her around a couple of times. "Thank you, thank you," he said once he was done whizzing her through the air. 

She laughed, clearly exhilarated from the happy response. "I'm so glad you liked it."

"Uh..." Gerard chimed in hesitantly. "I don't mean to interrupt, but Ray, Brendon, and Hayley just texted me. They're outside."

Linda pulled away from the hug, looking at Frank with a prideful expression that made his heart go warm. "Go celebrate your birthday, boy. The guitar isn't going anywhere."

"You know, I'm technically a man now," he remarked.

"Very funny, but I literally pushed you out of my body. I get to call you my boy until the rest of my days," she smiled. "Now go, don't keep them waiting."

Frank nodded and turned to face Gerard, who was extending his hand out to him with a gentle smile on his face. Without even having to think about it, he grabbed the other boy's hand and made his way downstairs. When they opened the front door, Frank was greeted by a sight he was in no way used to - 

Ray, Brendon, and Hayley looking… _friendly._

Ray was the first to speak, "Happy birthday, Frank!" Just like Gerard had predicted earlier, Ray launched himself towards Frank to wrap him in a hug; Frank laughed as he reciprocated.

"Thanks," he patted the taller boy's back awkwardly, unsure how else to react.

Brendon and Hayley appeared to be a little more nervous. When Ray set Frank free from the hug, he noticed that Hayley held a box in her hand. 

"Yeah, happy birthday, Frank," she gave him a smile that was small but strangely genuine. "We all pitched in and got you a gift." Hayley reached out and handed him the box.

Frank felt surprised by this. He hadn't expected them to actually show up, let alone bring him a _present._ He grinned kindly at them, "Thanks. Come in, guys," he motioned for them to step inside and they immediately did so, Gerard shutting the door behind them as they shuffled into the living room. 

As soon as everyone was reunited, Frank briefly winced as he waited for the explosion. But said explosion never came. Instead, Ray, Brendon, and Hayley all calmly sat down in various couches and armchairs by Pete, Patrick, and Mikey. 

It was almost... normal. 

Gerard dragged Frank to sit down next to him in an empty space on the couch by Mikey and Pete, and as soon as they were all settled, an awkward silence quickly filled the room.

To Frank's surprise though, Patrick was the first one to break the silence, not too long after they all sat down. 

"To really put this whole fight behind us, I think we should go around in a circle and apologize to each other one at a time. Then we can hopefully just chill and hang out?" he suggested.

Damn. In the brief time they'd spent apart, Frank had almost forgotten how emotionally intelligent Patrick was. He really _did_ see the world through therapist glasses. Everyone in the circle seemed to agree with this idea. 

Patrick continued, "Let's start with Frank, since it's his birthday. Anyone have any apologies for Frank?"

Ray raised his hand right away. Patrick nodded at him and he took it as permission to speak, "Uh, Frank, I'm really sorry for all the nasty comments I made to you over the years. Especially about your height. You're a perfectly acceptable height, actually."

Patrick stepped in, "Alright, um, we don't have to lie." He scratched his head, "But thanks, Ray. Anything else?"

"I'm also sorry about that time in sophomore year I took some scissors to your clothes while you were showering in the locker room and you had to walk around with your nipples showing all day."

Mikey was the one to chime in this time, "Hold on, isn't that a scene from Mean Girls?"

Ray nodded solemnly, "Yeah, I'm really sorry, Frank. Just in general."

"Now, Frank, do you accept that apology?" Patrick asked in a relaxed manner.

"Yeah, of course. It's all good, man." Frank and Ray both smiled at each other, and Frank could've sworn he felt a physical weight be lifted off his shoulders.

Patrick proceeded to question, "Do you have anything to say to Ray, Frank?" 

"Sorry for throwing a juicebox at you. I'm sorry about the nasty things I said to you too. Especially that time I called you a giraffe," Frank apologized sincerely; Ray was actually a pretty cool guy.

"It's okay. I called you an elf. We're even."

"Next?" Patrick scanned the circle, looking for volunteers. "Anyone else have any apologies for Frank?"

Hayley raised her hand ashamedly. "I'm sorry for punching you. I should've probably just pushed you off of Brendon."

Frank shrugged, "It's alright. I'm sorry I made you feel like punching me was the only way to keep your friend safe." He gestured towards his face, "Besides, my black eye's gone now. It's in the past."

They made their way around the circle like that, moving on from Frank to Patrick, Ray, Hayley, and so on. Brendon apologized to the other group as a whole for not stepping in and asking his friends to stop the pranks. Frank thought this was also surprising - he hadn't known Brendon felt bad about the pranks. Before the fight, Brendon was already a fairly reserved guy, so it wasn't shocking that after experiencing the trauma of being kicked out of his parents' home, he'd retreat even further into himself.

And then finally, they reached Pete. The last person in the circle. 

Once Patrick announced it was Pete's turn to be the recipient of apologies, Ray, Brendon, and Hayley straightened themselves out like they were either uncomfortable or getting ready to deliver a presentation. Frank figured they must've rehearsed something, because Ray and Hayley turned to face Brendon like they knew he wanted to speak first. 

"So, Pete..." he started, proving Frank's deduction correct. "I wanted to start this by saying that I'm sorry I was silent all week. I spent the past few days processing exactly what I wanted to say to you. I feel like out of everyone here, you've been the most wronged. I'm so sorry that my pain extended out to you in such a way. It's not, and it'll never _be_ fair."

When Frank turned to face Pete, he saw Pete was gaping at Brendon - like he'd never expected to hear the words he was currently hearing. 

Brendon continued, "I honestly feel like shit about what's happened to you. Seriously, Pete. It hurts me so badly that you, someone I used to be so close to, went through so much pain because of my shitty ass parents. I don't know how I could ever make it up to you again. I'm not going to demand that you forgive me, and neither are Hayley or Brendon. But if you're willing to do it, I promise we'll work day and night to make sure something like that never happens again."

"That's from all of us," Ray added. "Not just Brendon."

Pete slowly nodded, fidgeting with Mikey's hand in his own as he thought about what he'd just heard. Eventually, he mumbled, "It's alright," and unlike earlier in the week, it actually was. Pete shot the others a shy yet honest smile, concluding the circle of apologies Patrick had set into motion. 

"That was very emotionally charged," Gerard observed. "Can we please move onto something more lighthearted now?"

"Ah, yes!" Mikey turned to Gerard and smiled knowingly, "let's do the gifts." 

Gerard returned the smile and stood up off the couch, walking towards the corner of the living room where a large bag reading _Barnes and Nobles_ sat. He picked up the bag and placed it onto the coffee table, right in front of Frank. "This is a gift from me." Gerard's face was painted in mischief, and Frank could see that there was clearly something off about this gift.

_"What did you get me?"_

Gerard bit his lip. "Reach into the bag and find out."

Frank eyed the other boy suspiciously, "Just to be clear, is this something I should open around your _brother?"_

"Frankie!" Gerard whined impatiently. "Just fucking open it!"

Hesitantly, Frank reached into the bag and wrapped his hands around something that was definitely book-shaped. _Hardcover,_ he noted. _Probably not a Kama Sutra, then._ As soon as he pulled the book out of the bag, however, he let out an annoyed groan. 

"You asshole!" He cursed Gerard, who was covering his mouth to avoid bursting into laughter. "You know, this isn't funny."

"It is _so_ funny," Gerard retorted, having given up on containing his laughter at this point.

"Frank, what is it?" Hayley asked. 

He turned the book around so the front faced the others, and slowly but surely, they all read what was on the cover.

 _New Oxford American Dictionary: Third Edition._

Frank could see the exact moment they finished identifying the book, because everyone present burst into laughter along with Gerard, who seemed to almost be on the verge of tears. 

"Okay," he said, clutching his stomach, "that's not _actually_ your gift. I saw it at the bookstore when I was getting your real one and I thought the opportunity was too good to pass up." Gerard reached into his back pockets and pulled out a small card, "Here's your actual gift."

Frank took the card in his hands. "What is this?"

"It's a gift card for six months of Netflix. So we can watch all the gay shit you've been missing out on," Gerard explained.

Frank grinned at the simple yet thoughtful gift. "That's adorable. Fuck you."

Before they could move onto the next gift, the doorbell rang, making Frank snap away from his friends and to the door. He figured his mother would take care of it though, so it didn't take long for him to redirect his attention towards his friends. However, a distressed shout from his mom snapped Frank's attention right back towards the front door.

"Frank!" she called, making Frank drop everything and run to where she was, clenching the doorknob in her hands nervously.

He immediately saw the cause of her distress once he reached the entrance hall. 

Outside, standing on the front porch, was his father, looking tired yet smug like he always did. 

"What are you doing here?" Frank asked harshly - he knew there was no way his father would come to his home for selfless reasons. He put himself between his mom and the man outside, placing his hand over hers on the doorknob. 

His father sneered, "What, can't a man go visit his son on his eighteenth birthday?"

"No! I don't want to fucking see you!" Frank spat. "Go away!" He sniffed the air around him briefly, "You stink of whiskey."

Gerard heard the altercation from the living room and looked over at Hayley in concern. She appeared concerned as well, and the two of them got up to check what was the cause of the commotion. They stood a few feet behind Frank and Linda, trying to make something of the situation.

As soon as Gerard laid his eyes on Frank's father, he _knew_ who he was, despite never seeing him before. The two men looked eerily similar - they were the same height, had the same wide jaw, and most eerily of all, shared the same hazel eye color. However, when Gerard glanced at Frank's father, it felt more like looking at a sick, twisted version of Frank. While Frank's hazel eyes were soulful and gentle, his fathers' were cold and predatory. 

If Frank was a dog, his father was a wolf. 

The older man seemed to spot Gerard too, because he nodded towards the boy and asked Frank, "Oh, you found another fairy to be with? I thought I had it in me to turn you into a real man, Frank. If only you had it in you to follow my lead."

"I'd never be like you!" Frank shouted, "You fucking disgust me! Even if you had somehow turned me straight, I'd never treat a woman the way you treated my mom," he clenched his hand tighter around Linda's, who was frozen in place behind him.

"You'd never be like me, huh?" his father seemed particularly amused by this statement. "Tell me, have you had your first drink yet?" 

Frank gasped silently, staring at his father with pure indignation. "You're the kind of man I'll never be," he said through his teeth. 

This went fully ignored by the older man, who continued teasing Frank, "You have, haven't you? Tell me, how'd you like it? Good, isn't it?"

Hayley stepped in, "Shut the fuck up."

He turned to face her, "And who are you?"

She slowly approached Frank's father, putting herself between the two men. "Someone who will give you something to think about if you don't leave right this second."

"You've got some nerve, threatening me like that," the man narrowed his eyes, watching Hayley intently.

"No. _You've_ got some fucking nerve, not listening to me when I tell you to back the fuck off."

Before anyone present could even blink, Hayley's fist was once again flying through the air, this time colliding with a different Iero. From the mere sound of the impact, Frank could tell Hayley had punched his father _much_ harder than she'd punched him. The man immediately dropped to ground, and Hayley followed him, standing over him like a fighter about to deliver a winning blow. 

"You think I'm fucking scared of you?!" She yelled, "I've punched an Iero before and he wasn't a drunken bastard when I did it!" Her voice was suddenly quiet and harsh, "Now _leave_ before I twist your motherfucking balls off. And go take a shower. You fucking stink."

The older man gazed up at the younger girl in terror and scrambled away, not even saying goodbye to Frank or Linda before he got into a car and drove off.

Hayley turned to Frank as she rubbed her right wrist in her left. 

"Seems like we're even, Iero."

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

That night when Frank and Gerard laid in Frank's bed, they were positively exhausted. It'd been an incredibly long day. Between making a quick trip to Manhattan for Frank's piercing, meeting up with Jamia, saying goodbye to Jamia, getting into their costumes, trick-or-treating, and stuffing themselves with candy, the two boys had fully drained themselves. Frank collapsed onto his bed and Gerard followed closely behind him, laying directly on top of the other boy and wrapping his arms and legs around him.

Frank found this choice of position funny, "You're clinging onto me like a koala."

Gerard buried his face into Frank's neck before he sassed, "Well, then be a good tree and stay fucking still. I'm cozy."

"You're so warm," Frank noticed. "Like a little heater."

Frank felt Gerard smirk into his neck, "You're the little one."

"Oh, piss off. Tell me, what's nine times seven?"

"Eighty one. Fuck you," he pinched Frank's stomach, making the other boy yelp. 

"Close. That's nine times nine. You can get nine times seven from that number, though." When Gerard made a confused noise, Frank clarified, "Well, nine times seven must be equal to nine times nine subtracted by nine times two. So just multiply nine by two, which is eighteen, and subtract that number from eighty one, which gives you sixty three. Therefore, nine times seven is sixty three."

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about," Gerard admitted.

Frank giggled, "The fact you don't know your multiples of nine still baffles me."

"It doesn't baffle me, considering I don't know any of my other times tables either."

"What?!" Frank exclaimed. "When we met you told me you just didn't know your multiples of nine."

"Well, I'd only met you then, okay?!" Gerard grumbled childishly. "I didn't want the cute punk guy to think of me as an idiot."

"I was worried about you thinking of _me_ as an idiot," Frank confessed. "I saw your schedule and realized the only class we had together was English, which by now we all know I suck at, so I knew for a _fact_ that you were going to think of me as an idiot."

"You know, seeing your father earlier today made me realize something," Gerard said, suddenly changing the subject. "I know what I see in you now, Frankie." 

"What is it?"

He ran his hand gently over Frank's jaw, remembering how similar yet different it was from his father's. "A good soul."

For some reason, this moment launched Frank back to the mental debate he'd had that morning. Suddenly, Linda's words from a few weeks ago echoed right back to him. 

_"Do you think he'll give me a chance?"_

_Linda smiled at him. "I don't know, but given how you've fallen for him already, don't you think it's worth trying?"_

_"I haven't fallen for him." Frank disregarded, "I know I could, and that I probably will, but I haven't yet."_

_"Darling… acknowledging you'll fall for someone is over halfway of the fall. If you feel strongly enough about him to know that the fall exists, it's because you're already close enough to see the ground."_

It was then that Frank realized why he felt the need to remember that moment from earlier in the day. 

It was the moment he knew he'd hit the ground. 

That night, Frank fell into a heavy slumber - like a peaceful coma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm falling..."  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> So, emos, what did we think of Tyler Joseph's whole Twitter fiasco?
> 
> God I had like the worst day ever yesterday. When I'm having a bad day I just come to this fic and read the comments you guys leave cuz they make me happy :) if you leave a comment on this fic know that not only I'll read it, but more than once too :D
> 
> Next chapter is called The Edge Of Glory and it's the last one! (+an epilogue + bonus chapter sorta like a short sequel). I'm posting the final chapter and the epilogue at the same time so watch out for a double update!!!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	18. The Edge Of Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the ending of the fic, guys :) I wrote this chapter and the epilogue with lots and lots of love. 
> 
> This chapter is entirely in Gerard's POV! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I need a man that thinks it's right when it's so wrong!"

Gerard furrowed his eyebrows as he studied Frank's relaxed features, clutching his sketchbook in one hand as he held a pencil in the other, occasionally drawing soft lines on the developing image in front of him. Although he never admitted it, Gerard spent more time analyzing Frank's facial features than he did his own - which was a _long time,_ considering how many hours a week he spent in front of the mirror doing his makeup. 

"I can feel you looking at me, you know," Frank hummed without opening his eyes. 

"That's because I am," Gerard replied without hesitation.

Frank's arms reached upwards and he arched his back, stretching out like he'd just taken a nap after a long run. "It's kind of funny how you go straight to drawing after we're done hooking up," he commented as he dropped his arms back onto the bed. “You get this weird burst of creativity.”

Gerard giggled from the desk chair, "I get the art fucked into me."

The other boy didn't seem very impressed by Gerard's clever remark. "Ah, _how poetic,"_ he said sarcastically. "You know, when I tell people my boyfriend is French, they expect you to be a lot more romantic than you actually are."

"Okay, that is bullshit." Gerard argued, "I'm romantic as fuck! I'm drawing you right now and you're naked - you're literally living that scene from Titanic that everyone swoons over."

Frank scrunched up his nose, finally opening his eyes to look at the boy across the room. "How much of my body are you drawing?" 

"Hm… I don't know..." Gerard lied. "For a completely unrelated reason, though," he pointed his pencil towards Frank's midsection, flicking it downwards, "would you mind lowering that sheet a little bit?" 

_"Gerard,"_ Frank rolled his eyes, "it's cold. It's winter and we live in New Jersey." This was indeed true; it was now December and the fall had fully settled into winter. There was some gentle snow falling outside, although the boys couldn't see it from Gerard's basement bedroom.

"It's for a, uh..." Gerard trailed off. "... anatomy... study..." he eventually added, uncertainty coming through in his voice.

Frank couldn't help but laugh at the dumb excuse. _"Anatomy study?!"_ he asked incredulously. "You know you don't have to come up with excuses to get me naked, right? You can just ask - when it isn't cold as balls - and I'll probably do it. Although, can't you draw me from memory at this point?"

"Maybe, but it's always better to have a live model," Gerard stated, confidently this time.

"You just want to feast your eyes upon my beautiful body while you draw," the half-asleep boy surmised, knowing very well that he was right.

Gerard groaned, "I think topping is becoming dangerous for your ego, Frankie. I should top you once so you become less insufferable."

"Pft," Frank huffed, "you wouldn't top me,” he said, feeling sure of himself. 

Gerard suddenly shot him a wild, untamed smile. “I wouldn't?” he asked; his voice carried an innocent tone yet there was an unmistakable glint of insanity in his eyes. Suddenly, Frank was a lot less sure of himself. “Just be still so I can draw you,” Gerard ordered, leaving no room for argument. “Pick a pose already so I can continue my drawing.”

“I’ll just fall asleep then,” Frank said, already yawning and adjusting himself into a comfortable position in bed.

“Alright, take your post-sex nap. Stinky ogre man.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

_”Linda, is Frankie here?”_

_“Oh, no,” she replied, rubbing her arms as the chilly outside winds invaded the entrance hall. “He just left. I asked him to go buy a few things since we’re baking tonight. You wanted to see him?”_

_“Yeah,” Gerard rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll come back later though,” he waved his hand to show it wasn't too much trouble, even though he had no idea how he'd get back home since Mikey had just dropped him off._

_Linda shook her head, “No, are you kidding? You're going back home in this weather? Just come in and wait for him inside.”_

_“Will I be bothering you?”_

_“Of course not!” She smiled genuinely. “I'm just preparing some stuff for dinner tonight. I like some company when I'm cooking anyways. Come in,” Linda stepped aside and motioned for Gerard to enter._

_He did so, flashing her a courteous smile in return as he took off his coat, hanging it by the door. December was just rolling in, and along with it, came December-style East coast weather. Gerard had stormed out of his house once he got the acceptance letter, wanting to let Frank know he’d gotten into his dream school as soon as possible. However, due to his excitement, Gerard had come severely underdressed for the weather outside. So once he took off his coat, he was again dressed in his usual attire - a simple sweater being the only layer between his skin and the elements._

_"You can sit at the breakfast table if you like. Frank will probably be gone a while," Linda laughed. "He takes ages to get the groceries and he left just a few minutes ago."_

_Gerard followed her into the kitchen and did as she suggested, taking a seat at the breakfast table as Linda picked up a knife and began working on a half-chopped carrot. "Have you had lunch already? We have some leftovers from earlier if you're hungry," she offered._

_"Thanks, but I already ate at home," Gerard declined politely. "What are you making?"_

_"Just some veggie stew," Linda said, tilting the chopping board over a large pan and scraping her knife over it to get all the carrot slices into the pot. "Figured it'd be nice with this weather. There's enough for three if you wanna stay for dinner."_

_"You're too kind," he giggled as he rubbed his hands together. "That'd be nice, though. If I'm not intruding on your family time."_

_"Are you kidding?" Frank's mother turned to look at Gerard and flashed him a warm smile. "We love having you around. It's family time when you're here too, you know?" She stepped sideways so her body was in front of the sink and then turned back around. Linda switched on the faucet and began rinsing some tomatoes, putting them aside once she was done. "What's going on with you?"_

_"I, uh..." Gerard scratched his head. "I got into my dream college. The acceptance letter just came in the mail. I came here to celebrate with Frank."_

_"Oh really?" She turned to face Gerard again, a proud expression on her face. "What college is it? Frank's gonna be so happy for you."_

_"SVA. It's in the city."_

_"Congratulations, Gerard!" Linda started washing her tomatoes again but continued focusing on the boy. "Are you gonna commit to it?"_

_"I think so. But I have until May to decide, so it's not like I need to rush the decision." Frank's mother hummed in agreement and a comfortable silence began settling in. However, a question that he'd been curious to ask Linda about for a while now popped up in Gerard's head. "Hey Linda?" Gerard suddenly called out, the question on the tip of his tongue._

_She replied but didn't stop the repetitive process of washing the vegetables as she did so. "Yeah?"_

_"Mind if I ask you a random question?"_

_"Of course not."_

_"What was Frankie like as a child?" Gerard finally asked, feeling like maybe he was being invasive with his question but at the same time feeling so very curious about the answer._

_He saw a sad smile flash through Linda's face, and Gerard briefly felt like maybe he shouldn't have touched upon the subject. She rinsed down the last tomato and turned the faucet off, drying her hands on her apron before she turned to face the boy across the room._

_"He was so carefree," Linda mumbled, a reflective look spread all over her face - like she was recalling the times she was talking about. "And gentle. Frankie was always very gentle."_

_Gerard couldn't help but smile bittersweetly at the thought of such a version of Frank - so different yet so similar to the Frank he knew. "Gentle?"_

_Linda nodded, "Yes. The other moms at school always said they were jealous of me because their sons were such troublemakers. Frank never set a foot out of line as a kid. If I told him to tidy up, he did it. If I told him to go to bed, he did it. He never brought me any trouble," she shook her head fondly at the memory. "And he was so kind. His father gave him a tough time about it. Said he didn't want his son to grow up a 'queer,' or whatever."_

_Gerard frowned, "Frank's father said that?!" Frank had never gone into much detail about his relationship with his father besides telling Gerard that the guy was an asshole, so this was somewhat surprising information._

_She nodded sadly, "I told him that I would take a kind homosexual son over a sociopathic heterosexual son any day, but I don't think Frank's father thought the same." Linda then turned back to face the counter, grabbing the tomatoes and working on chopping them absentmindedly as she continued, "Did you know Frank loves animals?" she commented offhandedly._

_"I know he's a vegetarian. I figured it might've been because of that."_

_"And the animals love him back too," although Gerard couldn't see it, he could hear Linda's smile in her voice. "I still remember the day he became a vegetarian."_

_Gerard responded with a thoughtful silence, hoping his eagerness to listen would encourage her to keep talking. He was proven correct when she sighed contemplatively and began telling the story._

_"One evening, I had to work overtime, and when I came home for dinner, I saw Frankie was crying. He must've been around eight or nine years old at the time. His father wouldn't stop yelling - something about Frankie not being enough of a 'man' - but once I got there I eventually managed to get him to calm down and asked little Frankie what happened," Linda started getting choked up at the memory, and Gerard quickly got a somber feeling about the rest of the story._

_Linda took a deep breath before she continued, "Frank's father had taken him to the woods out back when they spotted a deer. The deer around here tend to be pretty scared of humans, but I think Frankie's charm must've won over this particular one or something like that. He ran off to approach the deer by a lake and just started petting it. I swear, only little Frankie could befriend a Jersey deer. But… when his father finally caught up to him and saw what was going on..." Linda put her knife down and rubbed at her eyes. "He… he shot the deer right in front of Frankie."_

_"What?!" Gerard gasped in pure shock, feeling his heart sink in his chest at the thought of Frank having to experience something so horrible. "Linda, that's awful!"_

_"It is," she agreed, tossing the tomato slices into the pot before switching on the oven and covering the pan with a clear lid. "Frank was never one for hunting. His father used to like it but ever since he could understand what it was, Frank acted like he'd rather get his hair ripped out than go hunt. Which, by the way, I definitely wouldn't have doubted." Linda took off her apron, hanging it up by the door, and opened a cabinet, "Would you like some red wine, sweetie?" she offered, already carrying two glasses in one hand and a wine bottle in the other._

_"If it isn't too much trouble," Gerard accepted graciously._

_She retrieved a corkscrew from one of the kitchen drawers and sat down across him at the breakfast table. "You know, I'm not exactly a spiritual woman, Gerard," Linda commented while she dug the corkscrew into the wine bottle, popping it open and pouring equal portions of the beverage for both of them. "But I do think that animals can sense a human soul," she added once she settled into her chair._

_"How so?" Gerard wondered as he took a sip of his wine. He hummed happily once he tasted it - the flavor was fruity and pleasant._

_Linda took a sip from her glass too before she explained what she meant, "You might've noticed a few weeks ago when you met Frank's father that the two of them look rather alike, right?"_

_"I did. It was scary. His eyes..." Gerard trailed off, remembering the bone-chilling stare the older man had given him. "He looked like an evil version of Frank."_

_"That's one way to describe him. I just like to think of him as a man who happens to look like my son. I don't like thinking there's an evil version of Frankie anywhere in the universe," Linda chuckled, taking another sip from her glass. "Although you could always sort of see a hint of his father's face on him, when Frank hit puberty, that was when he started looking more like his father by the day. By the time he was thirteen, Frank was almost a spitting image of him. But even though they look so similar, animals have always loved Frankie and hated his father."_

_Gerard thought this information was rather curious. "Really?" He asked, unable to stop the grin tugging on the corners of his lips._

_"Oh yes," Linda grinned back. "One time, when Frank was in eighth grade, we had Thanksgiving dinner with Jamia's family. Frank had just turned fourteen. That year, him and his father both chose nearly identical outfits for the occasion. They might as well have been twins. However, Jamia's cat ran from Frank's father when he tried picking it up. I think it must've sensed something negative in him. But when we were done with dinner and Frank went to hang out with Jamia in the living room, the cat followed him and sat on his lap until we had to leave. That deer also tried to run from Frank's father when he caught up to them. I could tell you a million stories like this. Animals always hated him. That's why we never had any pets, even though Frank would love one."_

_"Why don't you have any pets now?"_

_"Well, I only divorced his father when Frank was fifteen. And by then, we figured that since he was going to college soon and I work full-time, we couldn't give an animal the attention it deserves," Linda explained, seeming genuinely upset about not being able to give her son a pet._

_"I see," Gerard nodded in understanding and took another sip of wine. "If you don't mind me asking, when did Frank become so… anxious and worried?"_

_"When he was in his preteens, I believe. That was when his interactions with his father really started getting to him. Frank used to only feel nervous when he was around, but slowly, his fathers' unpredictable reactions started making him overthink everything. It also didn't help that he was starting to look like the man he feared. I think that made him worry he'd grow up to be a bad man." Linda looked down at her glass, focusing her eyes on the beverage, but didn't bring it up to her lips for a sip. Rather, she seemed to be watching her own reflection in the dark liquid. "Have you noticed Frankie is pretty scared of loud, sudden noises?" she asked the boy across from her._

_Gerard hadn't thought about it yet, but now that Linda mentioned it, he realized that Frank really did seem to be strangely startled when he surprised him on his birthday. "Sorta, yeah. Is there a reason for that?"_

_"Yes. I don't think you're gonna like it, though."_

_"Tell me anyways." Gerard curled his hand around the stem of his wine glass, rubbing the rim with the pad of his thumb. "I want to know."_

_Linda finally snapped her gaze away from her reflection in the wine and brought her glass to her lips for another sip before telling him. "As you might've guessed, or as Frank might've told you, his father is an alcoholic. He's had problems with drinking since Frankie was a toddler. While I was away at work, he'd save his empty bottles in the cabinet. So when Frank did anything he deemed as wrong, he'd throw an empty bottle of liquor at the wall to intimidate Frank. He's pretty jumpy with loud noises now."_

_The more Linda told Gerard about Frank's father, the more Gerard swore he'd murder the man if he ever came across him again; and Gerard didn't consider himself a violent person by any means. "God… sorry for my language, but… what an asshole. I'm glad Hayley punched that man."_

_Linda smiled comprehensively. "I am too. That man might be my ex-husband, but more importantly than that, he's a man who hurt my son." She finished off her glass then, setting it aside on the table but still keeping her hand casually rested on the foot of the glass. "You know..." she lowered her voice, like she was about to make a confession. "When I first held Frankie on the day that he was born, I just wanted to raise a good person. And hopefully a happy one too."_

_"But you did," Gerard assured earnestly. "Frank is a good man. You succeeded, Linda."_

_"He was always a good person, I never doubted that," she agreed. "But he wasn't always a happy one."_

_Gerard stared blankly at Linda. He didn't know how Frank was before the two of them had met, but he hadn't thought much about how Frank must've changed since he met him._

_"Except that he's happy with you, Gerard," Linda continued, flashing him a kind smile before her face suddenly lit up. "Would you mind waiting here for a moment while I grab something upstairs? I just thought of something you should see."_

_"No, not at all. I'll be here."_

_Linda bolted out of the kitchen then, barely leaving Gerard alone for a minute before she returned, a new object in hand. She slid it across the table to Gerard once she sat back on her chair, and he looked down to investigate the item. Once he fixed his eyes on it, Gerard found a young boy staring right back at him through a picture. He smiled the second he laid his eyes on the image. Although Linda hadn't told him it was Frank, and there was nothing labeled "Frank" on it, there was no other human being on earth this boy could be except for Frank Iero._

_"How old was he in this photo?" Gerard asked as he picked up the picture to hold it in his hands, not once tearing his eyes away from the boy looking back at him._

_"Five."_

_Although much of Frank had changed over the past thirteen years, and most of his facial features had morphed completely by now, the eyes on this boy were the exact same eyes Gerard spent countless hours looking at. The same eyes that spent countless hours looking right back at Gerard. There was no way he wouldn't recognize those eyes. The boy in the photo looked happy, but not like anything in particular had made him so. Rather, he looked happy just for the sake of being content with life._

_"You recognized him immediately," Linda observed. "Why?"_

_Gerard smiled fondly, still not taking his eyes off the image. "I know this look," he stated simply._

_"Funny you should say that." She recounted, "Because earlier this year, I sat down on my bedroom floor and cried while staring at that very picture," she pointed at the photo in Gerard's hands, "because I didn't recognize the boy on it."_

_"What happened earlier this year?" Gerard frowned at Linda, his wine completely forgotten now that this image had captured his attention._

_"I think that's something Frank should tell you," she answered. "But it has something to do with why I always allow you to sleep here, no matter the day."_

_Gerard glanced down at the photo in his hands once again. "Linda, I know that you've already done so much for me, but would you mind if I borrowed this picture?" he requested, only half expecting Linda to allow it. "I promise I'll return it in a few days," he thought to add after a few seconds of silence from the woman sitting across from him._

_"As long as I get it back, sure. But what for?"_

_"I'd like to draw it," Gerard admitted sheepishly. "It's just so cute, Linda!" He turned the photo around so she could see it, "I mean, look at his little nose! And he's wearing color too!"_

_She let out a genuine, lighthearted laugh, "God, I know!" Linda put a hand over her heart, "He was once so well dressed! I mean, he's better dressed now that you're helping him, but God… did you know that I picked out his outfit for Mikey's party? And that I put together his accessories too?"_

_"You did?!" Gerard laughed along with her. The thought of a seventeen - almost eighteen - year old boy asking his mother to pick out an outfit for him was borderline ridiculous, and Gerard couldn't help but find it criminally funny. "God, I did think he looked particularly good that night."_

_"Now you know who's to blame!" Linda smiled as she poured herself some more wine, which reminded Gerard to drink his own. He took a sip from his glass before folding the picture through the creases already on it, separating the image into four equal quadrants. Gerard pocketed the picture and gave Linda one last thankful smile. He finished off his glass then._

_"Would you like some more?" Linda offered._

_Gerard gave her a confused look. "Do you make a habit of encouraging underage drinking?"_

_"I think it's better for you to have your initial encounters with alcohol under my roof than at a college party," Linda shrugged. "Frank also refuses to drink around me and I don't like drinking alone."_

_"Interesting. He sometimes drinks at parties. I've never seen him get hammered, though. He doesn't drink much around me either." Gerard was learning quite a lot about Frank that afternoon. He grabbed the wine bottle and proceeded to pour himself only half a glass, not wanting to abuse Linda's generousness too much - or embarrass himself in front of his boyfriend's mother._

_Linda gave him a solemn look, "I think Frank's afraid of becoming like his father."_

_"That's silly. He already isn't. Frank's a completely different man."_

_"I know that," she took a sip of wine before she finished her sentence, "but I don't think he does."_

_Before Gerard could say anything else, another voice joined them in the kitchen, "You know, I don't know what I was expecting to see when I got home from the grocery store, but I certainly wasn't expecting to see my mother and my boyfriend chatting over some wine." Frank stepped into the room and placed some grocery bags on the kitchen counter._

_"Frankie!" Gerard called out, feeling happy to see the other boy again. "Good afternoon!"_

_"Good afternoon..?" Frank laughed, finding Gerard's excitement strange for a regular Saturday afternoon. “Tipsy already?"_

_"No! I'm just..." Gerard leaned his head onto his hand, watching Frank casually take out some items from the grocery bags and admiring how his face had gotten slightly red and puffy from the cold. "I'm just happy to see you, Frankie."_

_"I'm… happy to see you too..." he replied, eyeing Gerard analytically as if he'd determine the motive for his odd behavior just by looking at him. Linda briefly gave Gerard a knowing look before picking up her wine glass and stepping out into the living room, briefly muttering something about watching the new soap before she headed out._

_Frank approached Gerard with two different chocolate bars, holding them up as if presenting them to the other boy. "So, I wanted to bake you some chocolate chip cookies but I didn't know what kind of chocolate you liked, so I got both milk and dark. I personally prefer dark chocolate for baking, so we could just snack on the other one while watching some TV if you wanna just go with my recipe. I don't-"_

_Gerard interrupted the other boy's culinary ramble by standing up and launching himself into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Frank's neck as he held his head to his body - like the shorter boy would break if he let go. "Frankie, you're so, so, so good," Gerard mumbled into Frank's neck. "Promise me you'll never change."_

_The other boy was still holding up the two chocolate bars in the air, unsure of how to reciprocate the hug with his hands busy. "Um, sure?" Frank replied, feeling confused about Gerard's sudden emotional vulnerability. "I don't know where this is coming from, but… thanks, I guess."_

_That night, Gerard was the one who stayed up, studying Frank's familiar features like they were brand new._

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

That following Friday, the two boys were set to have their last day of school before winter break.

Gerard marched into art the period before lunch feeling somewhat rejuvenated - after all, he was set to have about two weeks of good times with Frank, so there wasn't much room to be upset about anything that Friday. Although Frank was still quite shy about playing his guitar for anyone, Gerard had nagged him enough over the past month or so that he'd agreed to play a song for him over Christmas - and Gerard was one-hundred-percent looking forward to being serenaded by a cute punk guy while they sat by a cozy fireplace. 

He was more of a romantic than Frank gave him credit for sometimes. 

Regardless of his plans for the break, Gerard now had to redirect his attention towards AP Art and all the things that came along with it - including Hayley Williams, who seemed to read Gerard's excitement on his face as soon as he waltzed into the classroom. 

"Excited for the break?" She said, smirking at him in a way that told Gerard his answer was rather irrelevant.

He put his backpack down under their table and sat on his regular bench. "Yup."

"I'm guessing you're hanging out with Frank?" Hayley suggested, looking pleased with herself when Gerard nodded, proving her correct. "How are things going between you two?"

"Great," Gerard replied honestly.

"I'm genuinely surprised you guys haven't gotten into more trouble together," Hayley professed. "Your personalities are like trouble magnets."

Gerard lowered his eyebrows in confusion, "What do you mean?"

 _"Gerard,"_ Hayley rolled her eyes. "He's _stupid_ and you're _unhinged."_ She talked like she was stating the most obvious thing in the world, "He's the kind of person who would _go along_ with a bank robbery, which is extremely concerning because you're the kind of person who would _plan_ a bank robbery."

"Frankie's not stupid," Gerard argued.

"Maybe not in general," Hayley admitted, somewhat agreeing with him. "But for you, he _definitely_ is. If you asked him to jump off a skyscraper in New York City, his only question would be: 'Empire State or World Trade?'" She snickered, seeming to find her witty comment incredibly amusing.

"Urgh," Gerard groaned. "Shut up!"

"That's not a bad thing..." Hayley sassed, "Not everyone has their own personal idiot."

By the time lunch period rolled around, Gerard had evaded a fair amount of clever comments from Hayley. He couldn't even be bothered - not when he had come up with a brilliant plan to pester Frank at lunch. 

While Hayley and Gerard were packing up their materials at art, Hayley quickly suggested, "Hey, do you wanna go for lunch at McDonald's? Ray's driving and we still have room for one more in the car since Patrick didn't wanna go." 

Gerard declined apologetically, "Sorry, I can't. I have plans to go annoy Frank."

"Ah," Hayley laughed, "that does sound more entertaining than McDonald's. Have fun."

"I will," Gerard smiled, removing a single notebook and pen from his bag before he closed it and slinged it over his shoulder. The two friends waved each other goodbye once they left class, and Gerard almost skipped to the cafeteria in excitement, notebook still in hand. Sure enough, when he entered the cafeteria, there Frank was - hunched over his phone. Gerard thought Frank looked calm. A little _too_ calm. 

Without waiting for anything else, Gerard walked over to where Frank was sitting, feeling pleased with himself at how much fun he was about to have.

"Hi Frankie!" He sang, drawing out every vowel. 

Frank immediately looked up at Gerard, his face quickly contorting into a worried expression. "Oh God, what is it? You look like you have a plan."

"That's because I do." Gerard took the notebook and placed it in front of Frank, who seemed confused by the action as it was, in fact, rather unusual. He picked up the small pad in his hands and examined it for a few seconds, a puzzled look still on his face.

"A notebook?"

"Yes," Gerard finally took a seat across Frank and placed a pen in front of the other boy, finally explaining his plan, "I am going to pass on all my knowledge to you. I can't let you wander the world being this bad of a gay, Frank. Think of this as an intervention."

Frank picked up the pen and sighed, "I have to _take notes?"_

"Yes, you do. Now open up your notebook, class is starting," Gerard announced, straightening his back out like he was about to give a lecture.

"You know..." Frank observed, "For a bottom, you're awfully bossy."

"My leadership skills have absolutely nothing to do with my ability to take it up the ass," Gerard retorted without missing a beat, sounding strangely formal. 

Frank went pale. "Jesus… did you have to phrase it like that? You can be so vulgar sometimes."

Score. Gerard was just waiting for an opportunity to say something shockingly sexual - which usually warranted this sort of response from Frank - to watch the other boy's prudish reaction. "We've been over this," Gerard smirked, "that wasn't vulgar." He leaned over the table, bringing his face closer to Frank's. "You wanna see vulgar, Frankie?" he whispered, staring down at Frank like he wanted to kiss him, but keeping his face right where it was.

"Uh," Frank quickly looked around at all the other people in the cafeteria, "not really, no." 

Gerard bit his lip, content that Frank already seemed to be feeling rather flustered. He decided to escalate things a little bit, leaning even closer to Frank then before he whispered, "You dare me to porno moan your name, right here, right now?"

Frank inhaled sharply, "No, not even a little bit."

"Why?" Gerard tilted his head sideways, "You don't think I'd do it?"

"No, I'm not daring you because I know for a fact that you'll do it. You're crazy enough."

Gerard couldn't help but smile at this. "You know me so well, Frankie," he said, finally sitting normally again in his chair. He took a casual tone again as he continued, "Let's get started then."

The other boy gazed at him, looking lost as hell. "Huh?" 

Gerard had to stop himself from laughing at how stupid Frank looked. "I'm teaching you how to be gay, remember?"

"Oh, right," Frank opened the notebook in a weird, cumbersome manner. "Go ahead."

"Alright, let's start with something practical. Look at my brother and Pete over there at the lunch line," Frank's eyes followed where Gerard was pointing at, where sure enough, Mikey and Pete stood by Patrick. "What's wrong with their outfits?"

It was as perfect of a day as any to criticize their fashion sense. Mikey and Pete had a strange thing for matching outfits, and on the last day of school, they wanted to end the semester with a bang. Instead of the usual clashing of colors they wore, on that day they were wearing an entirely neon yellow ensemble. Additionally, they had both recently bleached their hair, which only made their look more of an eyesore.

Frank frowned, "Everything. I can't tell you one good thing about what they're wearing."

"I know that, but pick it apart," Gerard laughed. "What makes it bad?"

"I… I hate how they're wearing only one solid color," Frank grimaced, appearing to be genuinely disgusted. "And why did they have to make that color _yellow?_ They look like highlighters."

"Very good, Frankie!" Gerard praised. "Write that down."

Frank clicked his pen open and started jotting some stuff down. 

_Mikey and Pete: a critical study_

_1\. Never wear all yellow._

"Alright, what about their accessories?" Gerard inquired, trying to hint that there was something particularly wrong about the accessories Mikey and Pete were wearing.

"Uh..." Frank scanned the two boys as they slowly walked forward, approaching the end of the lunch line. "I can't tell exactly."

"Okay, I'll tell you this one. Consider it your first lesson. It's the fanny packs."

"Huh…" Frank said, a slight smile showing up on his face, "now that you mention it… they _are_ ugly!"

Gerard raised a finger, trying his best to sound serious as his following point was indeed extremely important. "Fanny packs are forbidden."

The other boy nodded comprehensively and wrote it down: 

_2\. Fanny packs are forbidden_

"The only circumstance under which you are allowed to wear a fanny pack is if you are a lesbian. Lesbians are allowed to wear fanny packs," Gerard then informed. 

_2\. Fanny packs are forbidden - unless lesbian._ Frank quickly added to his notes, seeming to be understanding everything so far. Although Gerard didn't say it, he felt a hint of pride at Frank's eagerness to learn, especially when he came in with a question.

"Why are lesbians allowed to wear fanny packs?" He asked, appearing to be genuinely curious about the answer. 

"They're the only ones who can make them look acceptable."

It was then that Pete, Mikey, and Patrick joined them, placing their trays on the new table they had all adopted. Instead of using the usual four-person table that Patrick, Pete, and Frank used to sit at, they had now adopted an eight-person table since their friendships had all been rekindled to at least some success. Although Pete was still a little nervous around Ray, Brendon, and Hayley, Mikey's presence seemed to generate a huge improvement in his confidence. 

"What's up?" Mikey asked, taking a seat by Frank and across from Pete, who was now by Gerard - leaving Patrick as an awkward fifth wheel. "The others went for McDonald's, right?" 

As if on cue, the three members missing from the group walked into the cafeteria, quickly scanning the room for the others as they carried multiple bags and cups from McDonald's. Brendon was the one to spot them first, and he pointed to Hayley and Ray where their friends were. 

"Hey guys!" Ray greeted the others once they sat down. "I brought you all McFlurry's," he said, attempting to place the stacked cups of ice cream on the table, being overly careful not to drop them.

Patrick immediately got up and helped him, grabbing the top two cups and putting them in between the trays already on the table. "You didn't have to."

Ray seemed indifferent towards this, "I wanted to. Just pick what flavor you guys want. I got a few different ones since I didn't know which ones you wanted. I know Patrick’s lactose intolerant so I only brought four."

Mikey and Pete snatched the two Oreo flavored McFlurry's right away, leaving Frank and Gerard to pick between Butterfinger and Reese's ones. 

Frank turned to face Gerard and nodded towards the cups, "Pick one."

"You don't wanna choose one?" Gerard wondered. 

Frank shrugged, "I'll just have whichever one you're not having."

"Such a gentleman," Gerard teased, grabbing the Butterfinger flavored McFlurry. Truthfully, he wasn't a huge fan of Butterfinger, but he knew Frank loved Reese's and thought he deserved to have his favorite flavor. As he predicted, Frank seemed rather pleased that he'd get to keep the peanut butter cup flavored one, and Gerard subtly smiled to himself at the other boy's childish amusement with ice cream.

"So what were you guys talking about before we arrived?" Brendon asked the others, dipping a french fry into some ketchup. 

"I was teaching Frank how to be a better gay," Gerard proclaimed. 

Patrick laughed, "What was the last straw?"

"Yesterday when he didn't recognize Toxic by Britney Spears."

This fact drew a surprisingly indignated response from Patrick, _"What?"_ He threw his arms up in the air, "How do you not know Toxic by Britney Spears? At this point, you're not even bad at being gay, you're just uncultured."

In an attempt to redeem himself, Frank pointed at Gerard and announced, "Gerard doesn't know his times tables!"

"Which ones doesn't he know?" Pete asked.

"All of them!" 

Hayley seemed to think this was an amusing fact, "Gee, is that true?" she asked with a smile on her face.

Gerard nodded sadly, "Yeah. I'm kind of dumb with math."

Patrick tried to comfort him, "Hey, that's not true. Gerard, you don't have a dumb bone in your body."

"Every now and then he does, yeah," Hayley said while very obviously glaring at Frank.

This comment drew loud laughter from everyone at the table, except for Frank, who didn't really understand it. "Huh?" He looked around at his friends, hoping to hear an explanation, but no one was offering one. 

_"Whoosh,"_ Ray laughed. 

Gerard withdrew his phone from his pockets, suddenly getting an idea. He opened his text chat with Frank, hoping to be rather subtle in the group setting. Quickly, he typed the message, _"Billie gave me an idea back at the party. How do you think I'd look bent over the principal's desk? ;)"_ he proofread it once to make sure he hadn't made any typos before he hit send. "Hey Frankie, you should check your phone," he suggested, trying not to sound mischievous as he did so.

Frank stuffed a spoonful of his McFlurry into his mouth right as he took out his phone, and Gerard saw the next few seconds play out in his head before they could actually happen. Just as he predicted, Frank's eyes went comically wide once he read the text - then he started viciously choking on his ice cream, drawing shocked looks from all their friends.

Gerard couldn't help but laugh. He'd rather die than be boring.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

"God, I can't believe you waited until the last day of the semester to clean your locker," Frank mumbled - mostly to himself - as he opened up a large trash bag, getting ready to face the absolute chaos that was Gerard's locker. 

"Better late than never," the other boy shrugged, staring at his own locker while looking dumbfounded - he didn't exactly know where to start. 

Frank reached into a shelf and grabbed a large pile of papers, most of them wrinkled beyond recognition. "Can I throw this out?"

"I guess."

"Do you even remember what these papers are for?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise once he realized that Gerard definitely had no idea what the purpose of the papers once was. Frank placed a hand on his hip in a manner that strongly reminded Gerard of Linda. "Gee, what if they're important?" 

He rolled his eyes, "If they were important, I would _remember_ what they're for."

Frank didn't seem like a huge fan of this logic, but he threw the papers into the trash bag anyways. He then sat down on the floor of their high school hallway, "I'll start at the bottom shelf and you start at the top shelf, how does that sound?"

"Are you saying that because you can't reach the top shelf?" Gerard asked with a smile, knowing he was right.

"Fuck off," Frank said snarkily. "Just get to work. I'd like to go home today, if that's alright with you."

Gerard laughed at this comment but did as Frank asked, getting to work on the top shelf of his locker. The other boy did the same, and soon the two of them fell into somewhat of a pleasant workflow. Occasionally, one of them would reach into the trash bag to throw something out, but most of the things in Gerard's locker seemed to have an appropriate place to live that wasn't the garbage. While Gerard was busy realigning his drawings on the door of his locker, he heard Frank call out for him from the floor.

"Hey Gerard?"

He turned around to face Frank, a hand still carrying a roll of clear sticky tape. "Yeah?"

Frank reached into Gerard's locker and pulled out a long green can, presenting it to the other. 

"Why do you have bug spray in your locker?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Right on the limit's where we know we both belong tonight!"  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> That scene between Gerard and Linda is my favorite one in the whole fic. 
> 
> Epilogue incoming!
> 
> Stay fabulous,  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	19. Marry The Night (epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna marry the night - leave nothing on these streets to explore!"

It was summer again.

Gerard had turned nineteen, the AP exams were over, and graduation had come and gone like the wind.

Ray had lent Frank his acoustic guitar so he could play outside more comfortably - since the lack of air-conditioning in his house was really starting to bug both Frank and Gerard alike. Although Gerard had in fact committed to SVA and was set to move into his apartment in Manhattan only a few weeks from now, the boys avoided the topic like it was radioactive. After graduation - when the reality of high school being over really started settling in - an elephant called 'University' seemed to follow Frank and Gerard no matter what room they were in. They hadn't had 'the talk' yet, and there was no indication that they would have it anytime soon.

At the moment, though, the two boys were on the lawn in Frank's backyard, enjoying the pleasant summer weather as much as they could. Gerard was laying on his back on top of the grass while Frank sat by him with Ray's acoustic guitar, strumming random chords absentmindedly. 

"Are you gonna play me anything?" Gerard asked teasingly.

Frank stopped his strumming, "Is there anything you wanna hear?"

A cloud then moved in the sky, causing a sharp ray of light to shine straight onto Gerard's face. Frank felt the heat on his bare back right before he saw Gerard squeak from the sudden brightness, moving an arm over his eyes to block out the sun. He answered Frank's question anyways, "Play me something happy."

Frank thought about it for a few seconds before deciding on _Keep Yourself Alive_ by Queen, hoping it'd be a subtle message to Gerard about New York. Although he felt horrible about letting the other go, Frank felt equally concerned about Gerard's crazy ideas going completely mismanaged. He felt even _more_ terrified about the possibility of Gerard finding someone else, however - someone else who'd tell him his ideas were crazy. Someone who would be the new Frank in his life.

He started playing the opening riff mainly so he had something else to focus on besides Gerard's departure. As soon as Gerard heard the first few notes, he smiled, like he recognized the song being played. And when the first verse rolled around, Frank became sure of it, because Gerard sang the lyrics right along with him. Frank could’ve sworn his heart was about to beat out his chest. His eyes were burning - if Gerard even dared ask him how he felt, he knew he’d burst into tears. Hearing Gerard’s gentle raspy voice only reminded Frank of how much he loved the boy - how much he loved the boy he’d have to let go of sooner or later.

At one point, Frank pretended like he no longer knew the lyrics despite knowing the song in and out, leaving Gerard to sing on his own for the rest of it. Watching the boy laying down on the grass happily singing along to Queen - a band already dear to Frank’s heart - caused a knot to appear in Frank’s throat that he couldn’t sing off no matter what. He felt thankful for the sudden sunlight now, as Gerard wasn’t looking up at his face and thus couldn’t see how emotional he was getting. 

Frank committed to playing the song flawlessly so he’d have something new to focus on. He put all his brain power into plucking the strings just right. Into transitioning between chords as seamlessly as possible. Frank even played his chords by pressing down on the strings halfway between two frets so the pain of the nylon digging into his fingers more than normal would distract him. 

When the song was over, Gerard turned around on the grass, laying down on his stomach and holding his chin up with his hands. When the two boys made eye contact again, Frank felt his mouth moving before he could think of better words to say.

“God, I'm gonna miss you so much,” he blurted out. 

Gerard certainly wasn't expecting to hear this, because his eyebrows raised innocently and his lips went agape. “I… I…” he stuttered, his cheeks now pink. “I’m… I'm gonna miss you too, Frankie,” he whispered after a long pause.

Before he could become aware of it, Frank reached out with one of his hands and rubbed his thumb along Gerard’s cheek, causing it to go an even brighter shade of pink.

“Frankie…” Gerard mumbled, staring up at the other boy.

“What is it?” He replied just as softly.

“I…” Gerard bit his lip, smiling slightly. “I want ice cream.”

Frank laughed at the unexpected request. “We can go for some Ben and Jerry’s if you want,” he suggested.

“No,” Gerard frowned. “I want you to play me another song. And I want you to sing it for me.”

“Uh, okay?” Frank said, feeling a little confused. “What song do you want?” 

“Play me something…” Gerard trailed off while looking up at nothing in particular, becoming lost in thought for a few moments before he added, “romantic.”

“Romantic?” Frank smiled.

“Yes. Serenade me, handsome shirtless man,” Gerard flirted, crossing his legs behind his back and looking up at Frank eagerly.

Frank wasn’t in a position to decline this request - especially when Gerard looked so adorable making it. A thought briefly occurred to Frank about never being able to deny Gerard anything, and somehow, he was totally okay with that. Frank eventually decided on playing _Heroes_ by David Bowie, as it was, after all, his favorite love song. He felt somewhat shy about playing such an emotionally charged song for Gerard, and so he looked everywhere except at the other boy as he played. If Gerard knew this song, he didn’t show it, because he watched Frank play in complete silence for the entire duration of the song. 

The two boys only reestablished eye contact once Frank strummed the last chord, slowly dropping his left hand from the neck of Ray’s guitar to rest on the grass. When Frank glanced at Gerard again, he saw his pupils were fully blown out, eclipsing the green of his eyes even in the summer brightness. Gerard’s eyes looked like two marbles - staring up at Frank right through the suspenseful silence between them.

Frank felt like he was about to suffocate from the weight of Gerard’s gaze - loving, yet so very heavy. If he still had the capacity to breathe, Frank definitely didn't remember it. It was almost like his heart had tripled in size inside his ribcage, because he could feel it pounding much stronger than usual; Frank's lungs felt crushed like the space inside his chest had become smaller. He stared blankly at Gerard, and it seemed like the other boy was feeling the same emotion too, because he looked like he was about to burst - Frank couldn’t tell if it was into laughter or into tears. Had it not been for the birds lightly singing in the nearby trees, Frank swore his ears would be ringing from the deafening silence between him and Gerard.

 _“Come with me, Frankie,”_ Gerard suddenly blurted out, like the words were coming from his heart rather than from his brain. The look in his eyes hadn’t changed a bit - still dark and burning; Gerard seemed to almost be glowing hot with emotion. 

“To get ice cream?” 

“No, to New York,” he quickly corrected. _“Move to Manhattan with me.”_

There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and Frank felt that breathing had just become a million times harder. The muscles in his chest clenched around his ribs, like they were trying to suffocate Frank out of tension, and any air he still had in his lungs was pushed right out. 

Frank never liked Manhattan. He thought it was smelly, noisy, and _cold._ But, as Frank gazed into Gerard’s dark eyes, he knew there was only one correct choice. Frank had never been a particularly intuitive person. However, once his intuition did tell him something, it was as if Frank knew with every fibre of his being that it was correct. And in that moment, he had absolutely no doubts about what he had to do.

“Yes,” he mumbled, nodding slowly. “Of course I'll go with you.”

Gerard smiled, relieved. “To get ice cream?” he asked mockingly, referencing Frank’s earlier blunder.

“I will too,” Frank said. “If you want me to.”

“We should go wherever you want to go today,” Gerard suggested. “You already agreed to come to Manhattan with me. Where do _you_ want to go right now?” He sat up, criss-cross applesauce on the grass.

"I want to get ice cream," Frank replied, removing the guitar from his lap and placing it down gently on the ground next to him. 

Gerard titled his head to the side like a confused Pug, "Are you saying that only because you think I want to get ice cream?"

"Don't you?"

"I want to go wherever you want to go, Frankie." 

Frank frowned, "But I want to be where you are."

"I'm already here, Frankie," Gerard grinned, bright and alive, right as a gentle breeze started blowing through his hair. Like always, he looked angelic. But this time it was different. Frank thought Gerard looked angelic for him and him only. "How about this, since I'm already here, let's just stay here." Gerard patted his lap, "Come be where I am, then."

Without having to think about it, Frank shuffled closer to Gerard, who pulled Frank's head towards his thighs, indicating he wanted the boy to lay down on his lap. Frank didn't have it in his heart to oppose. Once he laid down, he looked up at Gerard - whose hands flew straight to Frank's hair - and wondered out loud, "What if we want to get ice cream later?"

"We can just get some tomorrow," Gerard muttered, speaking softly, "or the day after that."

Frank felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when Gerard's fingers traced a particularly sensitive spot by his temples. Gerard's body was blocking out the sunlight, making a little Frank-shaped summer hut which the smaller boy never wanted to leave. He smiled up at Gerard, "We'll run out of summer days if we think like that."

"Haven't you seen Phineas and Ferb, Frankie?" Gerard joked, "We'll never run out of summer days."

"Never run out of summer days..." Frank repeated as he closed his eyes, relaxing into Gerard's gentle touch. 

In that moment, Frank thought to check his heart.

Yes.

The fire still burned like a vivid inferno inside his chest - scorching hot and all-consuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not gonna cry anymore!"  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Don't tune off just yet! This is the end of Bad Romance but I'm still adding a bonus chapter, sorta like a short sequel. 
> 
> Anyways, what'd you guys think of this ending?!!! Please let me know in the comments!
> 
> Stay fabulous!  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


	20. Born This Way (bonus chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after all the events in the regular Bad Romance story. Think of this as a short sequel as I highly doubt there will be a second book. 
> 
> In this chapter, Gerard is at the end of his 1st year of college, so almost 1 year after the epilogue. Frank is 19 and Gerard is approaching 20. Just so you have a little reference ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'There's nothing wrong with loving who you are,' she said, ''cause He made you perfect, babe!'"

"Hi, can I get a tall caramel macchiato with two extra shots of espresso?"

Frank glanced up to see that a customer had walked in while he had been daydreaming, and he immediately snapped out of his thoughts to serve them. Although he honestly couldn't give a rat's ass about the old white businesspeople who bothered to come into the Starbucks at Wall Street during their lunch breaks, he'd already been told off by his manager once before about dozing off on the job, so off to be a good barista - or 'partner,' as they were officially called - Frank was. 

"Iced or hot?"

"Iced."

At least that was good news. Frank preferred making the iced coffees way more than he did the hot ones; he'd almost broken the heating machine while learning how to operate it in his apprenticeship, so he considered his relationship with the machine rather troubled. Although iced drinks - especially the tall ones - were easier to make because about half of them just consisted of ice, Frank hated making the caramel macchiatos. Customers complained when the syrup cross-hatch wasn't to standard, and for someone as heavy-handed as Frank, that was an unfortunate given. Luckily for him though, Jamia was on drink-making duty until the end of the shift, so people could be ordering unicorn frappuccinos - which were a pain in the ass to make - for all Frank was concerned.

"Name?" he asked the customer.

"Eric."

"Coming right up," he said, jotting down the order onto the tall plastic cup. Frank had been deliberately misspelling people's names ever since he got hired at the Starbucks six months prior, and even though this customer's name was rather easy and straightforward, he liked challenging himself with how much he could fuck up simple names. In the end, he settled for writing "Air Rick," almost breaking into a fit of giggles as he slid the cup over to Jamia. She gave him an annoyed look before getting to work on making the drink.

“That’ll be six dollars and fifty one cents.”

The customer, Eric, frowned. “Well, that’s expensive.”

What the fuck was Frank supposed to say to that? He didn’t price the fucking items. He just took orders, made drinks, and got paid a sorta living wage for it. And Frank didn't even _like_ this job.

“Uh,” he stumbled, “sorry, dude. I don't make the prices.”

Why the hell was this man complaining? His suit looked like it cost both of Frank’s kidneys, and then some. He was wearing a Rolex, for Christ’s sake. He could afford six dollar coffee. 

“The extra shots of espresso cost an additional dollar-sixty. If you want we can have them removed. Your total would go back down to four ninety-one.” 

“No!” The man shook his head. “Just…” he tiredly withdrew a Starbucks card from one of his front pockets and slid it over the scanner, paying for his coffee. 

Now how hard was that? 

Frank rolled his eyes at Jamia when the man sat back down on a random table to wait for his drink, secretly hoping she'd take extra long to brew the coffee because Frank felt like that asshole deserved to wait. However, Jamia was pretty good at making drinks, so soon enough, she called out "Eric?" not even batting an eye at how Frank had butchered the name. After dropping off the drink at the counter, Jamia only gave him an annoyed side-eye before waltzing over to the sink and getting to work on some dishes while Frank stayed at the cashier. 

The Starbucks was rather empty as it was just under 4pm and most people were done with their lunch breaks but not yet off work; Frank and Jamia's shift was over at 4, though, and Frank could already hear the workers for the next shift getting their stuff ready in the back. 

"Who the hell is Air Rick?"

Frank turned to see his most recent customer, Eric, holding his cup up at the counter with a displeased expression. 

Great. 

Jamia and Frank exchanged lost looks, unsure how to react. When Frank turned to face the customer again, he immediately felt his ears go hot from the angry glare aimed at him. God, it looked like he was in for it for now. 

"How am I supposed to drink the coffee with my name spelt like this?" Eric asked, aiming his question at Frank rather than Jamia, who stood watching - nervous.

 _"Sir,"_ Frank took one deep breath, then another one, and even a third one for good measure. "Jamia here is excellent at making drinks. I can assure you that your drink is very well made," he explained as calmly as he was physically able to. It was true; her syrup crosshatch looked neat and even. 

"But this name!" The customer turned the cup around and pointed at 'Air Rick' written on it, "How am I supposed to walk around the office with my name spelt like _this?!"_

 _Just fucking suck it up like everyone else does,_ Frank inwardly swore, forcing his face to not show his annoyance with the situation. Luckily, Jamia - whose people skills were infinitely stronger than Frank's - stepped in to alleviate the tension, "Sir, if you'd like, I can pour your drink into a new cup. How does that sound?"

 _Eric_ placed his drink onto the counter passive-aggressively, "Yeah, sure."

Jamia did as promised and poured the drink into a brand new cup, devoid of Frank's 'Air Rick' on it. She handed the man his drink and he shot Frank one last look before leaving, muttering a short, "Pissy little punk," before heading out the door. 

"One day you're gonna get into serious trouble, Frankie," Jamia warned quietly, trying to sound as gentle as possible. "This job isn't even that bad. I don't know why you're always in such a bad mood in here."

The next shift employees started shuffling into the area behind the counter before Frank could reply, taking turns washing their hands and greeting Frank and Jamia as the two of them took off their aprons. The perk of working at Starbucks was wearing completely normal clothes under the apron, so as soon as Frank took that green monstrosity off of him, he was back to being his normal self. In all honesty, he considered that the _only_ perk of working there right alongside the free coffee - which he always brought home for Gerard anyways. 

Frank reached under the register and took out a pack of Colombia beans - Gerard's favorite - before he and Jamia both went out back, feeling thankful their shifts were both over. 

_"I hate this job,"_ Frank groaned.

"I know," Jamia said. "You say that before, during, and after every single shift."

Frank shoved the coffee pack into his backpack and launched his apron at a bench, not even bothering to hang it up. "It's because this job fucking sucks ass."

"You could go for a different job, you know?" Jamia laughed lightly. "Also, are you applying for college anytime soon?" She took out a hand mirror and a tube of pink lipstick from her bag, meticulously applying the makeup but still listening to Frank intently.

He sat on a bench - a different one from where he had launched his apron - to wait for her. "I think I'll apply to start next winter. I did pretty decent on my APs. I need to talk to my mom about financing it though."

"Where are you thinking of applying?" 

"NYU, probably. It's not far from where Gee and I live." 

Jamia did some final touch-ups on her lipstick before putting it away, smudging her lips together to even out the waxy substance. She put her mirror away and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Why don't you try Columbia? Come study with me," Jamia smiled teasingly.

Frank scoffed, "As if I'd ever get in." 

"I didn't expect to get in either. Yet look at me."

"You getting into Columbia was the least surprising thing ever," Frank scrunched up his nose. "You're like the hardest working person I know, dude." 

"And you did great on your math and physics APs! You could probably go for engineering and have a better shot than I did," she reasoned.

"I don't wanna do that for the rest of my life… I think. I need to find that out before I apply anywhere." He grabbed his backpack and the two friends soon made their way out into the afternoon street. Jamia quickly wrapped a hand around Frank's arm - it was an agreement between the two of them that Frank allowed Jamia to do this in order to reduce her odds of getting catcalled. New York City wasn't exactly the nicest place in the world for young women.

"And how do you think you're going to find your one true calling while working at this job you hate?" Jamia asked. 

Frank sighed. "But we're not gonna work together anymore if I find another job," he whined.

"I'm sure you'll survive," she giggled. "Besides, I'll be much happier knowing you're happy as well."

They paced themselves down a flight of stairs and into a subway station, where they both swiped their MetroCards before waiting for the train to come. Luckily, the two of them both used the same line to get home, so they waited patiently together alongside a few other New Yorkers while the subway didn't arrive.

"How's Gerard, by the way? I haven't seen him in a while," Jamia commented casually. Jamia and Gerard had become surprisingly good friends since they met on Frank's eighteenth birthday, so the fact she would be asking about him wasn't all that shocking.

"He's alright. He has his finals soon," Frank scratched his head with his arm that wasn't linked with Jamia's, "so he's a little stressed. He's managing pretty well though. Even better than I thought he would."

"What about at home? Is he still doing that annoying thing with the groceries?" 

_'The annoying thing with the groceries'_ that Jamia was referring to was the fact that whenever Gerard got groceries - which often happened while Frank was off at work - he'd put all of Frank's baking supplies on the top shelves of the kitchen cabinets, where he _knew_ the shorter man couldn't reach them. 

"He did it last time he got the groceries. He said he'd get some today after class so I'll let you know tomorrow."

Jamia grinned, "Have you figured out why he does that?"

Frank frowned, "Is there even a reason, besides getting under my skin?"

"I think there's a bigger reason." Jamia said cryptically, "You just haven't figured it out yet. I don't think he does anything _just_ with the intent of annoying you. There's always more than that."

"Gerard does some really weird things," Frank admitted. "I don't really get him sometimes."

Jamia raised a finger, "Gerard's brain is a fascinating machine. It just has hella screws missing." She soon added, "But, you don't really need to _get_ him to love him. You're his boyfriend, not his therapist."

"That is… very true. You kinda sound like Mikey, you know?" 

Living in Manhattan came with a massive upside for Frank, and that was having Jamia and her sage advice. Although Gerard himself gave rather good advice, Jamia's logic was often _a lot_ more down-to-earth than Gerard's. A couple months back when Frank was having trouble with a coworker who was spreading fake rumors about sleeping with him, Gerard suggested that Frank countered the rumors by adding to them, saying that his coworker had a piss fetish and that was why the two of them stopped sleeping together. Although Frank found this petty revenge incredibly tempting, Jamia had been very adamant about Frank resolving this through peaceful conversation. Which, in hindsight, was a much better idea, and ultimately how the issue was solved. 

"I need to meet this Mikey guy," Jamia said. "He seems cool."

The train arrived then, and the two friends quickly hopped on. Out of some sort of miracle, there were seats available, and Jamia took a seat by a window before Frank sat down next to her at the aisle.

"Mikey is pretty cool. You should come with us to Jersey in June for his graduation," Frank commented.

"My classes should be over by then," she nodded thoughtfully. "I'll need to check if I'm doing anything else over the summer though."

The two of them exchanged casual conversation until Frank's stop, which was only two stops before Jamia had to get off. Frank gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and a friendly wave, then hopped off the subway and began making his way home. On the walk to the apartment, Frank briefly planned what he'd do upon arriving. He rapidly decided: say 'hi' to Gerard if he was already home, do the cleaning to blow off some steam after his stressful workday, then bake an apple pie. Frank associated apple pies with good days, so maybe, if he baked one, he'd start having a good day.

That was excellent logic in his opinion. 

"Gee?" Frank called out once he stepped inside the apartment. He waited a few seconds for an answer, and when he got none, Frank just assumed Gerard wasn't home yet. 

There wasn't much stopping Frank from proceeding with the plan he'd made himself on the walk home, so without any further hassle, he changed out of his work clothes and grabbed a vacuum cleaner, bucket, and mop, deciding to start by cleaning the kitchen. In his mind, this meant that by the time he'd finished cleaning the rest of the apartment, the kitchen floors would be dry, which further meant he could cook safely without any fear of slipping on the wet tiles. 

When Frank started off the methodical process of cleaning the apartment, he could already feel his stressful day ebbing away.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Gerard had only just arrived home from the grocery store when he realized he'd run out of clay. 

This was a pretty big inconvenience, as he had a clay sculpture assignment for that Friday, which left Gerard no other choice but to step out once again to buy some. He took a cab to the nearest art supply store - Gerard didn't trust himself to wander the city alone - and bought two new blocks, trying to move as fast as possible as he knew Frank would be home soon.

As soon as Gerard was done swiping his card on his purchase, a text appeared on his phone screen.

 **Jamia** _4:33_  
_You need to talk Frank into quitting his job._

He put his card back into his wallet and grabbed his bag off the counter, taking his newly purchased supplies before replying to Jamia's text.

 **Gerard** _4:34_  
_another bad day?? :(((_

She responded before Gerard was even out of the store. 

**Jamia** _4:34_  
_Rich guy called Frank a pissy little punk because he misspelt his name._

"Urgh," Gerard found himself groaning under his breath. He knew the customers at the Starbucks Frank worked at were particularly difficult, but getting directly insulted was an occurrence that seemed to save itself only for the worst of days. Gerard stepped out of the store and stood on the sidewalk for a few moments, waiting for a cab to pass by so he could get a ride home. Once he was inside a cab, Gerard quickly gave his address to the driver and took out his phone again in order to reply to Jamia's previous text.

 **Gerard** _4:37_  
_wtf. ill see what i can do_

Again, Jamia's response came within the minute.

 **Jamia** _4:37_  
_Thank you._

Truthfully, Gerard had been mentally debating this issue for months now.

Frank had been working at the Starbucks on Wall Street for about six months, and Gerard noticed his hatred for the job within the first week he was there. Although Frank hadn't explicitly _said_ the job sucked, this fact could be strongly inferred from how utterly _clean_ their apartment always was. 

See, Gerard noticed in their first month of cohabitation that Frank was the kind of person who stress cleaned. A _fuckton._

It came to the point that when Hayley first came to visit the two men after moving into her dorm down at NYU, the young woman had been genuinely _terrified_ of their apartment's cleanliness - citing it as _"moderately psychopathic"_ and _"serial killer-esque."_

However, Gerard felt like it wasn't his place to interfere with Frank's career choices. After all, Frank was an adult. He could make his own decisions, and even though it pained Gerard to see the other man feel so beat down from a job he hated, he couldn't just _make_ Frank quit like that. 

Jamia's texts did tell Gerard something, though. 

They told him that it was about time he talked about it with someone else.

There was only one person Gerard could think of. Right away, he withdrew his phone from his pockets and searched for the contact he had in mind, tapping at the phone number on the screen once he located it. The phone rang for a few seconds. And then a few more. Gerard was about to think he'd called at a bad time when an answering voice came from the other end of the line.

"Hello? Gerard?"

"Linda?" Gerard sighed in relief, feeling thankful she'd picked up. "Are you busy right now?"

"No, sweetie. Never for you," Linda said kindly. "What's going on?" she asked, sounding concerned.

Gerard leaned back on his seat and crossed his legs, settling in for the conversation. "I need to get Frankie to quit his job, Linda. He's so miserable..." he trailed off briefly for a melancholic pause before he added, "I'm so tired of seeing him like this! He hates this job but he just isn't quitting it."

There was a thoughtful silence on the other end of the line, like Linda was considering Gerard's words, and eventually she began investigating further, "How often is he stress cleaning?"

"Almost every day now."

"Uh oh." Linda's understanding of the severity of the situation seemed to have risen sharply, "That's not good."

"I need him to quit this job at Starbucks, Linda. How can I get him to do it?"

"Hm..." the older woman thought about it for a few seconds - the soft sound of tapping only slightly echoing through the speakers - before she said, "I think you're gonna need to find him a replacement before he feels comfortable enough to quit this job. Remember how depressed he got when he was unemployed? I'm guessing that's why he isn't quitting. In Frankie's brain, even going to an annoying job is better than staying alone with his thoughts all day."

That was an excellent point by Linda Iero - as were most points by her. 

When the two men first moved into Manhattan, Gerard started his classes only a week after moving in, while Frank remained idle for two whole months before being employed at the Wall Street Starbucks. Those two months had been hell for Frank; while Gerard got to go outside, attend classes, and meet new people, Frank was homebound. Even though the young man had tried to tour the city, visiting libraries and coffee shops in hopes of meeting college students - or anyone his age - no one seemed to be interested in meeting other people out in the city.

It turned out - New Yorkers hated other New Yorkers. 

"That's true," Gerard agreed with Linda. "So you think I have to find Frankie a job?"

"Something along those lines." She then wondered, "Do you have anything in mind?"

Gerard couldn't stop the grin that showed up on his face then. "I might."

"I'll leave you to it, then." Linda changed the subject before the conversation could turn cold, "What about you, darling? How are you doing? How's college?"

"Eh, it's alright. I have finals next week so I have some studying to do till then."

"It's great that you're putting in some effort, sweetie." She then warned in a motherly tone, "But be careful. Don't work yourself too hard. It's very important that you look after yourself. I know you look after Frankie a lot - which you know I'm very thankful for, even if Frankie doesn't notice it - but you need to look after yourself as well. Is Frank cooking for you, by the way? Are you boys eating well?"

Gerard laughed, "Linda, Frankie's my boyfriend, not my _housewife."_

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly, "I know that, boy! I'm just telling you. By the way, speaking of housewives, are you catching the Desperate Housewives rerun on ABC?"

 _"There's a rerun?"_ the younger gasped. 

"Yes! Maybe you could try watching it with Frankie," Linda suggested.

"Hm… I don't know," Gerard hesitated. "We've made such good progress on Drag Race. I don't wanna overwhelm him, y'know?"

"What season are you guys on?"

"We finished season four over the weekend," he replied. "I was surprised with how much he liked it! He really digged Sharon Needles. She's his favorite queen now."

"Wow, Frankie liked the goth drag queen?" Linda asked sarcastically. "How shocking!"

Gerard giggled, "All the fighting did stress him out though. I assured him that the arguments are probably played up for the sake of reality T.V., but it didn't make much of a difference. I think he's too sensitive for drag queen drama so-."

Another voice suddenly interrupted the conversation, "Sir, your destination."

When Gerard finally took notice of his surroundings, the cab was indeed parked right outside his apartment. He told the woman on the other end of the line, "Linda, just a moment," and paid for his ride, telling the driver to keep the change before he stepped out into the sidewalk.

"I have to go now, Linda. It was great talking to you," Gerard said sincerely. He loved talking to Linda; by now, the woman had sort of become his second mother - while being much more present and supportive than his original one. 

"Alright, sweetie. Remember what I told you. Take care of yourself. Eat well," she reminded him. "Next time you boys come down to Jersey, let's have some wine time, promise?"

Gerard laughed, "Promise."

"You know I love you both so much, right? I'd adopt you if I didn't want you to marry my son," Linda commented, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"I know."

"Bye, darling! Give Frankie a kiss for me!"

Gerard could definitely do that. "Alright, I will. See you!" He hung up the phone, shoved it into his pocket, and took out his keys, unlocking the front door and stepping inside. Just as he predicted, the smell of the lavender floor cleaner Frank liked to use immediately invaded Gerard's nostrils. How Frank managed to work within such proximity of that cleaner was a mystery to Gerard - the scent seemed to burn his nose hairs whenever Frank was doing the cleaning. 

"Frankie?" Gerard called out, locking the door behind him and scratching his nose.

The shorter man soon appeared out of the bedroom, a mop in hand. "Oh, hi." It seemed like he was almost done cleaning the apartment, because he looked a little dishevelled and out of breath. "How was class?" he asked casually. 

Gerard placed the shopping bag carrying his brand new clay on the coffee table and approached the other man. "It was fine," he rapidly dismissed, wrapping his hand around Frank's on the mop. "Let's put the mop away, alright?"

"But I'm not done cleaning the bedroom yet," Frank frowned. 

"I can guarantee you that our bedroom will survive not being fully cleaned today since the last time you cleaned it... yesterday." Gerard softly pried the mop out of Frank's hand, leaning it against a wall. "You and I both know it's not about the cleaning, Frankie. How was work?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"It was… urgh," Frank groaned. "You know..." he scratched the sides of his arms nervously. "Not great."

"Hey." This change in body language did not go unnoticed by Gerard, "Come here," he gestured, wrapping his arms around Frank's torso. Although it took a few seconds for the other man to accept the affection, when he did so, Gerard could feel the tension slowly leaving his body as he melted into the hug. "You know I want you to be happy, right?"

Frank didn't respond, but his silence implied that this was not new information.

Gerard then continued, "Frankie, I think you should reconsider whether you want to stay at this job for another month."

"But..." Frank mumbled, "I brought you Colombia beans."

"Frankie," Gerard couldn't help but chuckle, "I can buy my own coffee. Even if I do think it's incredibly sweet that you bring me some."

"Just..." Frank trailed off, fully relaxing into the hug before he finished his sentence. "Just tell me about your day."

"Well," the taller man adjusted his arms, wrapping them around Frank's neck as the previous position was putting a strain on his back. He started gently twirling Frank's dark locks in his fingers as he recounted, "I had sculpture in the morning, then I had an art history lecture. After class I got lunch with Hayley. Then I got the groceries you asked for, but when I got home I realized I was out of clay. So I stepped out for a moment to get some more for my assignment, and now, here I am. Oh, and I also talked to your mom on the phone."

Gerard felt Frank smile into his shoulder. "Is she still dropping hints about a wedding?"

"If by 'dropping hints' you mean explicitly telling me she wants us to get married, then yes, she is."

Frank laughed lightly, "Oh God, what did she say to you this time?"

"She said she'd adopt me if she didn't want me to marry you," Gerard giggled. "I think she just ran out of hints to drop and decided to tell me upfront. She also asked me if you were cooking."

Linda's multiple references to marriage did prompt the two men to have that conversation a couple of months back. Their mutual agreement seemed to be _"We'll get married when we can actually afford to throw a wedding,"_ which they both deemed to be reasonable. Although Frank didn't really get it, Gerard's idea of a wedding was so incredibly _extra_ that they both knew waiting for financial stability was the only option; something about multiple outfit changes, twenty pounds of glitter, and whatever the hell _"I wanna be a princess, Frankie!"_ was supposed to mean. 

"But I _am_ cooking," Frank said. 

"Speaking of cooking..." Gerard pulled away from the hug but still kept his arms on Frank's shoulders, "Why don't we go do that? How does that sound?"

"Good," the shorter man smiled. 

Gerard suddenly burst into a giggle fit, which confused Frank as the conversation they were having wasn't all that funny. "Why are you laughing?" he asked, grinning slightly - Gerard's laugh was contagious. 

"You're just so cute!" He pinched Frank's cheeks like a middle-aged auntie would do to a nephew, "Like a little puppy, Frankie!"

Frank laughed as much as he could with Gerard pulling his cheeks apart, _"That's_ why you're laughing?!"

"You're just so sweet!"

"Aren't we meant to be cooking something?" Frank asked, his cheeks aching slightly from Gerard's pinching. 

"Right," Gerard put his hands down, resting them on the other man's shoulders again. "But before that, I want to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I want you to meet my dad, Frankie," he stated calmly.

"What?!" Frank's eyes immediately widened, "You want me to meet your dad?!"

"Yes, that is indeed what I said," Gerard restated, tone still calm.

_"Why?!"_

"It's something people in committed relationships do, Frankie," he laughed at Frank's oddly panicked look. "Don't worry about it. He's a chill dude, I promise. Besides, you two have a lot in common. I'm surprised I haven't introduced the two of you yet."

"What if he doesn't like me?!" Frank rambled, "What if he hates me then blackmails me into breaking up with you? I'm never gonna see you again! You're gonna hate me and I'm gonna be all alone!"

Although this notion was violently ridiculous, Gerard knew why Frank was worried about this. He figured that in Frank's brain, the fatherly reaction to meeting their son's homosexual lover was a negative one - subconsciously, Frank likely didn't believe in positive fatherhood. However, Gerard was absolutely sure his dad would like him - he'd already liked Frank from how Gerard described him, after all - and he also knew that maybe, his dad was the solution to Frank's issues with his shitty job.

"That won't happen, Frankie," Gerard assured. "I wouldn't think of introducing you to my dad if I had any doubts about him liking you. Besides, I already told him loads about you and he thinks you sound great."

Frank appeared positively surprised by this fact, "You told him about me?" 

"Of course. Like I said, you two have loads in common. Trust me, you'll get along."

Luckily, this seemed to comfort Frank somewhat, because he slowly nodded in agreement and said, "Alright," appearing to genuinely accept the prospect of meeting Gerard's father. "Let's go cook something, then."

However, before the two men could actually get started on their plans, the sound of a phone ringing suddenly interrupted them. Gerard felt the vibrations coming from his pocket and took his phone out to check the caller I.D.

Somehow, Gerard turned even paler than he usually was once he read the name on the screen, "Oh my God."

Frank furrowed his eyebrows, concerned. "Who is it?"

"It's..." Gerard frowned. "It's my mother."

Frank hadn't heard anything about Gerard's mother since the time they fought down in the Ways' basement. It had sort of become the topic neither one of them discussed - although Frank had already inferred that Gerard's relationship with his mother was rather troubled. 

"Are you going to pick up?" Frank wondered. 

Gerard nodded and silently gestured towards the couch, where the two men sat down before Gerard hesitantly accepted the call, slowly raising the phone to his ears. _"Qu'est-ce que tu veux?"_ he asked harshly, his tone cold and apathetic. 

There was a long pause then. Frank could hear the frantic sound of another woman talking on the opposite end of the line, even though he couldn't make out a word of what was being said. Gerard's constant frown told him that the conversation was anything but pleasant, however. 

_"Je suis content que tu avais changé d'avis."_ Gerard eventually replied in a tone that wasn't as harsh as it was at first, but still distant and impersonal. _"Mais je retourne pas en France. Je reste ici."_

These words seemed to anger his mother, because Frank could hear her yelling furiously even though she wasn't on speaker. Had he been able to speak French, Frank thought he'd be understanding her perfectly. 

By some miracle Frank didn't comprehend, Gerard seemed completely unbothered by the woman's anger. Once she was done with her angry rant, Gerard replied calmly, _"Maman, écoute-moi."_ He took a deep breath, _"Je suis content que tu avais changé d'avis. Mais j'ai une nouvelle vie maintenant. Je suis heureux. Je vis avec mon copain et nous sommes presque indépendants financièrement. Je vais dans une université que j'aime. Je dois m'occuper de ma propre vie. Frank a quitté sa propre maison pour moi pendant que tu m'as expulsé de chez toi!"_ Gerard let a dramatic pause settle in before he concluded, _"Frank m'a choisi, tu l'avais pas fait."_

The woman spoke some more, this time her voice coming out low and serious, but Gerard interrupted her, _"Non. Au revoir. S'il te plaît, ne m'appelle plus."_ He hung up the phone without waiting for an answer, sighing in relief once the call was over.

After a few seconds of silence, Frank thought to ask, "Everything ok?" He soon added, "That sounded serious..."

"It's all fine," Gerard answered, sounding a little exasperated.

"Can I ask what that was about?" Frank said hesitantly. "You mentioned my name a couple of times."

"Oh… well, my mother called to say she changed her mind and that she wanted me to go back to France. I told her I have a new life now, with you, and that I didn't want her to call me again," Gerard told the other man honestly. "Not gonna lie, it felt kinda good..." he gave Frank a shy smile. 

"Hm…" Frank felt surprised about the contents of the call now that he knew what it'd been about, but focused on trying to direct Gerard's attention elsewhere rather than pestering him about it too much. "How about we celebrate your emancipation by baking an apple pie, then?" he suggested, smiling back. 

"I need to work on my clay sculpture assignment." Gerard scratched his head. "Also, isn't emancipation only for minors?"

Frank rolled his eyes at the pedantic remark, "Whatever. What are you gonna make for the assignment?"

"I haven't decided yet… any suggestions on what I could sculpt?"

 _"My dick,"_ Frank said snarkily, meaning it as a joke. Gerard, however, seemed to really like this idea. He smiled cheekily at the other man, biting his lip slightly. Frank stepped in before Gerard could get way too into the concept, "You are not making a clay sculpture of my penis."

Gerard's entire face fell, like he was truly disappointed. "Why not?! I could get a good grade for doing human anatomy and it's familiar enough for me to correct my mistakes if it doesn't look right."

"Because I don't trust you to not use it as a dildo while I'm away!" Frank laughed as if he were stating the obvious, "I can't afford the medical bills if you get a chunk of clay stuck up your ass. Just make a hand or something like a normal art student."

"I'll sculpt my hand flipping you off," Gerard smiled. "Asshole."

"Dick."

"Well, you know what they say," he smirked, "you are what you e-" 

Frank immediately interrupted, "Oh my God, don't even finish that sentence. I'm gonna make us some cookies." He got up off the couch and began walking to the kitchen. Gerard called out from the living room. 

"You're the best housewife ever, Frankie!"

"Oh, fuck off." 

He only laughed, knowing exactly what Frank was about to say within the next few seconds. 

_”Gerard!”_ Frank yelled annoyedly just as Gerard predicted, “You put the fucking groceries in the top shelf again!”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

By the time Saturday evening rolled around, Frank's anxiety over meeting Gerard's dad had reached _astronomical_ levels. Although Gerard had repeatedly assured him that his father was a cool guy, Frank couldn't help but feel like the interaction would go south.

Regardless of his feelings, when a knock on their front door ripped through the apartment that rising spring evening, the two men had no option but to answer. Leaving Mr. Way hanging was just another way of pissing him off, Frank rationalized. Frank had no real expectations of how Gerard's dad would greet him, but he certainly didn’t expect to be greeted by a big bear hug right out the gate.

“God, nice to meet you, kid!" The man said into the hug. "You were almost becoming a myth in my mind!"

Frank froze in Mr. Way's arms for a few moments, initially unsure of how to react. Was this man the reason why Gerard was a hugger himself? The men had almost identical styles of hugging: just throwing themselves at other people, enveloping them tightly as if trying to radiate love into them. Frank had no choice but to accept and relax into this hug; he'd felt it many times before, after all.

Although his response was a little stiff, he felt a bit of the earlier anxiety wash away. "It's, uh..." Frank stumbled but forced himself to respond to the older man, "It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Way."

The older man immediately retracted from their hug and shot Frank an amused look. _"Mister Way?!"_ he asked in disbelief, a huge smile plastered across his face. "I like it! But it's just Don for you, kid."

 _"Don,"_ Frank quickly repeated, trying to grow accustomed to the new name.

Soon, Don redirected his attention towards his son. "And you! God, I missed you, kid!" As Frank had come to expect, the two of them threw themselves at each other. Frank observed right away how much more relaxed Gerard seemed to be with his father; when speaking with his mother over the phone earlier in the week, Gerard seemed to have every bit of his guard up against the woman - like he'd been expecting to be hurt. His guard was completely down around Don, however. Frank recognized this Gerard - he was calm and sure. 

"I missed you too, dad."

"How's art school?" the older man asked casually.

Gerard answered honestly, "Stressful, but I'm doing what I can to stay on top of things."

Don stepped away from their hug before ruffling Gerard's hair playfully. “That’s my kid. Always so studious.”

Frank smiled absentmindedly as he watched the two men. Part of him thought he’d be jealous of witnessing such a father-son relationship - like he’d been many times of his friends in elementary school - but instead, Frank only found himself infected by their contagious joy. 

“Let’s sit down,” Gerard said, gesturing towards their small kitchen table, “Frankie made dinner.” He tried his best to hide the smirk that threatened to show up on his face; Gerard was starting to think this would work like he'd planned. 

When the three men sat at the kitchen table - as their small Manhattan apartment lacked a proper dining room - Don eyed the tray placed on it, looking impressed with the food. “Wow, Frank, you cooked this?”

The youngest blushed, answering nervously, “Uh… yeah. Gerard helped me, though.”

“That’s not true,” Gerard chimed in, “I’m an awful cook. Frankie is the one with the recipes. I just stand around the kitchen and occasionally reach things for him. Makes me feel a little useless," he said through a smile.

“You're a talented cook, then?” Don asked, intrigued.

Frank shrugged sheepishly, “I _like_ cooking.”

“He’s great at it,” Gerard told his dad. 

“Well, Frank,” Don turned to face him, “it smells delicious! What is it?”

“It’s, a, uh…” Frank scratched his head. "It's a veggie lasagna. I'm a vegetarian, so..." he trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. 

"That's very interesting, Frank," Don said, appearing to be genuinely intrigued by the fact. "Is there an entrance dish or something?"

Frank felt his entire body go cold. "Were you expecting one?" he asked anxiously, thinking he'd already fucked this meeting up for himself. 

Gerard's father only laughed lightly, "No, not at all kid! I was just starting to wonder when I could dig into this lasagna you made. It looks amazing. I don't know how much longer I can sit here without eating it - that's all."

"Oh… alright," Frank sighed in relief. "Um… no, there's no entrance dish. You can start eating, if, uh…" he interrupted himself when he felt one of Gerard's warm hands on his knee, gently rubbing the skin in a reassuring gesture; Frank concluded his previous sentence after registering the touch, "if you want." 

Gerard seemed to have gotten annoyed with the relative delay, because he grabbed a large spoon off the table and quickly served himself some lasagna, holding the spoon up to the others as if offering them some too. Don was the first to accept, picking up his plate and allowing his son to place a slice of lasagna on it. Before Frank could accept or decline, Gerard served him a slice.

What? He remembered what Linda had told him about eating well. 

Once Don had a bite, he hummed contently at the flavor, turning to Frank when he was done swallowing his first forkful. “It tastes great, Frank! You have talent.”

“Thanks…” the youngest muttered. 

As soon as he noticed the other men had comfortably started dinner, Gerard grinned cheekily to himself before he announced, "You know… dad… Frankie here collects vinyls."

"Oh really?" Don smiled, appearing to be pleased by this information. "I run a record store down in Greenwich Village," he informed.

"He plays guitar too..." Gerard added coyly.

"Wow, kid!" his father wiped a smidge of tomato sauce off his face with a napkin. "You must know a thing or two about music, then."

Frank's eyes widened. "Yeah..." he laughed nervously. "Only a thing or two, though," he dismissed humbly.

"Don't lie, Frankie." Gerard titled his head, almost as if mocking the younger man even though he was being kind and honest. "He knows way more than just a thing or two," he said to his dad. "Frank's excellent at guitar." Gerard leaned his head onto his hand, gazing at Frank in intrigue. _"And,_ he knows a bunch about records."

"You take care of your records, boy?" Don asked.

Frank nodded shyly. "Uh, yeah… I brush them every time I use them and once a month I give them a proper cleaning," he mumbled.

Don hummed approvingly, "Very well. How do you store them?"

"In that, uh, in that bottom shelf over there," he pointed at a shelf almost at ground level in the corner of the living room. "So they don't get any sun when we open the windows."

Don smiled. "You know how to take care of your records, boy. You seem to know more than most of my employees when they started." He took a large forkful of his lasagna - genuinely enjoying it.

Gerard immediately felt his heart skip a beat. _Invite Frankie to work at the store, invite Frankie to work at the store, invite Frankie to work at the store,_ he repeated to himself inside his head, almost praying the words to a higher power he didn't even believe in.

"Thank you, Don," Frank said, appearing to slowly but surely be relaxing around Gerard's father.

"Dad," Gerard bit his lip, quickly thinking of one of Frank's qualities which his father would deem useful in an employee, "Frankie is also amazing at math. Give him any calculation and he can probably do it in his head."

"You're good with your numbers, kid?" Don inquired.

"I'm alright," Frank looked down at his food, eating a slice of his lasagna to shut himself up.

Gerard raised a finger, "That's a massive understatement! Whenever we go grocery shopping together, he does all the tax calculations by head. It's amazing! He can do some impressive multiplication too."

"It's only impressive to you..." Frank said under his breath.

"Well, sure, it's probably even more impressive to me because I don't know any of my multiples, but Frankie does way more than a regular time table." Before the younger could protest at all, Gerard turned to his dad and uttered a simple, "Watch," before asking Frank, "What's thirteen times fifteen?"

"One hundred and ninety five," Frank responded without missing a beat.

Gerard grinned, bright and sneaky like a Cheshire cat, before retorting, "Four percent of sixty?" not giving Frank any time to worry about being a show-off.

He looked up for a second, like he was putting a few numbers together before he answered, "Two point four."

Don seemed like he wanted to give Frank a try, because he asked a question of his own, "What about twenty plus five percent?"

"Twenty one," Frank replied, faster than he'd answered the previous question, looking increasingly sheepish as he began worrying about bragging. 

"Woah, that was fast, kid!" Don took the last bite of his lasagna then. He let a pause settle in for a few moments before he quietly added, "You know… you seem like you'd be perfect to work at my store."

Gerard almost leaped out of his seat then. He bit down on his lip so hard in excitement that he worried he'd draw blood. _Fuck yes!_

"Really?" Frank gasped.

"You're a very responsible young man from what I've heard about you," Don stated honestly. "And you know a thing or two about music. One of my employees quit just last week too, so there's a vacancy I'm looking to fill anyways." He raised his open palms in Frank's direction, "Of course, no pressure. You can take the week to think about it."

 _Please take it, please take it, please take it,_ Gerard mentally pleaded, hoping he hadn't pissed off the Almighty too much in the past so they'd actually consider granting his wishes. 

Frank grinned, staring back at Don in silent awe. 

"The wages are pretty decent." Don explained, "And you can look into being promoted in the somewhat near future if you really know your stuff, which it seems like you probably do."

 _"And,_ " Gerard chimed in, addressing Frank, "the record store is just by NYU. Aren't you thinking of applying there, Frankie?"

"I-I am, yeah..." he stuttered. 

"Just give it some thought, kid," Don said calmly. 

"Yeah," Frank nodded excitedly, "I'll think about it."

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

That night, when Frank and Gerard went to bed, Frank noticed the other man was being oddly quiet. "What's up?" he asked. "You're being quiet."

Gerard adjusted himself in bed, turning to face Frank straight on. "I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"Would you really like to have insight into this brain of mine, Frankie?" he wondered, the hint of a playful tone laced into his voice. 

"I don't think I'm smart enough for that just yet," Frank chuckled. "You look like you're thinking of something serious, though. What is it?"

"It's nothing bad," the older reached out to rest his palm on Frank's cheek, running the tips of his fingers gently through the dark locks. "I'm just thinking about you… about us. How..." he trailed off pensively, smiling and shaking his head. "How I'm lucky to have someone like you."

"You're the one who just marketed the fuck out of me to not only to a possible future employer, but to a future father-in-law," Frank laughed.

"I was only able to market you because you have amazing marketable qualities," Gerard reasoned. 

"Huh," Frank smiled, "Can you tell me more about these amazing marketable qualities, then?"

"One, being an annoying smartass who asks me too many goddamn questions," Gerard sassed, a wide happy grin spread across his face. "Two, staying up past your bedtime. And three, not taking my compliments in front of my father."

Frank put on a fake frown, "None of those sound like amazing marketable qualities."

"You should sleep," Gerard stated seriously, changing the subject and ignoring Frank's remark. 

When he thought about it, Frank realized that he definitely could use some sleep. It'd been an emotionally draining day, and he'd very much love to sleep it off. "We should both sleep," he said.

"We should," Gerard agreed, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on the other man's lips before making himself comfortable in bed, adjusting himself under the sheets. "Good night, Frankie."

"Good night," he replied, also making himself comfortable. However, as soon as Frank closed his eyes, a question began burning in the back of his throat and he knew right away that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep before asking. "Hey Gerard?" he called softly, hoping not to bother the other man too much.

Gerard hummed sleepily, "Hm?" 

"Why do you intentionally put the groceries in the top shelves?" Frank asked.

"No reason," Gerard answered, although the tone of his voice implied that there very much was one. He quickly contradicted himself, "Figure it out, Chef Iero." 

Frank made a confused noise but closed his eyes, thinking about the possible motives for Gerard’s organizational habits not anxiously but rather in relaxed wonder.

That night, Frank fell peacefully asleep - dreaming of lazy Sundays and apple pies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't hide yourself in regret, just love yourself and you're set!"  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> By the way, check out my new novel [Straight Men Don't Know Words,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375511) which is witch!Gerard x Catholic!Frank ;)
> 
> I can't believe this is truly the end of Bad Romance. I had so much fun writing this. I'm gonna miss this fic! It feels like I'm sending my oldest child off to college :')
> 
> Thank you to the lovely [dangsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangsu) for beta-ing. 
> 
> And thank YOU for reading! <3 What did you think? Did anyone figure out why Gerard does the thing with the groceries? What was your favorite part? Let me know any thoughts in the comments :)
> 
> Like always, stay fabulous!  
> \- Venom  
> Tumblr: [thepoisonpills](https://thepoisonpills.tumblr.com/)


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